


The New World

by mountain_born



Series: The Marvelous Tale of an Agent, an Archer, and an Assassin [34]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Doctor Who/Avengers Crossover Fusion, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-28 14:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6332302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_born/pseuds/mountain_born
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Battle of New York was the end of the world.  As the new world begins to form around them, River, Clint, and company come to the realization that nothing will ever be quite the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whenever one of my stories is going through the beta process, I always think of a quote from Stephen King: “To write is human, to edit is divine.” That’s why I always ask for a virtual round of applause for my beta, **like-a-raven.** She doesn’t let me get away with ANYTHING, whether it’s using a cliché, incorrect grammar, or just lazy writing. She also generously allowed me to abscond with some bits that she had drafted for Phil and a certain original character.
> 
> This fic will be divided into nine chapters, with one chapter covering the events of a day. (For the sake of narrative flow, a day will be skipped here and there. So if you notice the chapter headings jump from “D-Day + 2” to “D-Day + 4” it’s intentional.) I plan to post one chapter a day. Some of them vary wildly in length.
> 
> I feel a little guilty that Bruce doesn’t turn up much at all in this fic. My feeling was that after the battle he’d just want to hole up and hide. But I’ve started drafting an upcoming fic about the Avengers first assigned mission, and suddenly he’s gotten very loud! So, rest assured, Bruce will get his chance to shine in the near future.

_April 2012_

**D-Day**

It was like someone had accessed Phil’s memory and wiped the footage.

One moment, he was standing on the Helicarrier, holding a Phase II prototype he wasn't sure worked and didn't know the name of. He might remember someone yelling _no._ The next thing he could remember was a bright room, tubes and wires and lights and mechanical beeps and _pain_ and someone telling him to blink twice if he could hear them.

Phil blinked three times and then fell back into unconsciousness. 

When he woke up again, Clint and River were there. They were there _together._ For reasons Phil couldn’t quite remember, that was very significant. River was talking to him, saying something about things being okay. Or maybe she was telling him that _he_ was okay, he didn't really know. Processing information was hard, and her voice seemed to be coming from very far away.

Clint was uncharacteristically silent and he stayed behind River. Phil tried to ask him what the hell was wrong with him, but all that he could produce was a painful rasp. River told him not to try to talk.

Phil went back to sleep. He’d work on making sense out of things later.

*****

The nurses on duty in the Mount Sinai ICU had agreed to allow Clint and River “just a quick peek” in at Phil. As they’d been led back, River had, against all logic, envisioned one of two scenes: Phil bloody, broken, and all but dead, or awake and sitting up waiting for River and Clint to brief him in on everything that had happened since the attack on the Helicarrier.

Reality was somewhere in between. There was no blood. Phil’s chest was heavily swathed with clean, white bandages. He was intubated and monitor cords snaked away from his body to five separate machines, ready to alert the medical staff if his vitals started to falter. The nurse had warned them that he was still heavily drugged and probably wouldn’t even know they were there.

He did, though. River winced when he tried to say something to them around the tube in his throat.

“Don’t try to talk, Phil. Everything’s okay. Just rest.”

One of the doctors on duty offered to go over the details of Phil’s case with River and Clint. River realized that Fury must have sent over Phil’s medical directive, the one legally authorizing her and Clint to be privy to that information. She mentally awarded her boss a point in her good graces column for that.

She might have to apologize for punching him.

Dr. Gregson’s report was cautious. Phil’s condition was better than it had any right to be, but it still wasn’t great. The damage was serious, the repairs were extensive, the outlook was uncertain, and they were advised not to get their hopes up too high. Without consciously meaning to, River found herself holding Clint’s hand tightly. Whether it was to reassure him or herself, she couldn’t say. Clint, for his part, looked like he couldn’t absorb one more thing today, good or bad.

“But you say his vitals are holding steady,” River said.

“For the moment,” Dr. Gregson replied. “We’ll be monitoring him very closely. In the meantime, you should both seek treatment as well. I’d direct you downstairs, but it’s likely going to be a very long wait before someone can see you. It might be best if you go back to your. . .base? I was given to understand that your organization has its own medical facilities. We’ll call you if there’s any change in his condition.”

In the wake of learning that Phil was alive, River had almost forgotten that she and Clint were both bloody, bruised, limping, and streaked with dirt, smoke, and God knew what else from the battle. It was probably a miracle they’d been allowed into the ICU at all.

River glanced over at Clint and, at the slight shake of his head, turned a pleasant smile on Dr. Gregson. “Thank you, but we’ll be remaining on the premises.”

There were already more people in the ICU waiting room than there had been when River and Clint had gone back to see Phil. River recognized one of the newcomers, a tall, strongly-built woman wearing a SHIELD jacket thrown over civvies. She was sitting in a corner with the Doctor, Amy, and Rory. 

“Agent Washington. What are you doing here?” River asked.

Nadine Washington, Fury’s executive assistant, rose from her seat beside the Doctor.

“Agent Song. Agent Barton. It’s good to see you both in once piece,” she said.

The smile she gave Clint and River was almost maternal. Nadine did have that quality about her, River had often thought. It was, though, the type of maternal air that suggested that while she would fight to the death for those in her charge, she would also freely box their ears if they got out of line. She had been Fury’s assistant for over a decade, ever since an injury had put her out of the field. She was impossible to intimidate, highly organized, and capable of serving as Fury’s final line of defense should his office ever be breached.

“I came down to deliver these,” she added, holding up a SHIELD-issue tablet and a folded piece of paper. 

River was slightly surprised when she handed the tablet to the Doctor.

“Doctor, the Director asked me to tell you that if you’re still willing to offer help, he would appreciate your assistance.”

The Doctor started curiously swiping his finger across the tablet’s screen, reading its contents at an inhuman rate of speed. He looked up at Nadine with a half smile. “Tell Nick I’d be happy to. We’re not going to want to go anywhere until Phil is on the mend anyway.”

Nadine handed the paper to River.

“I also brought Agent Coulson’s list,” she said. “Director Fury thought that you and Agent Barton would prefer to be the ones to make the calls.”

River took the paper with a nod. Every SHIELD field agent had The List, a short roster of people to be contacted in case an agent was killed or seriously injured in the line of duty. The calls were generally made by an agent’s direct superior or partner, someone who was close to the agent in question. In the case of Strike Team Delta, Coulson’s closest colleagues were the two agents under his command.

“We’ll take care of it,” River said, automatically looking at Clint. 

But Clint seemed to be preoccupied by a patch of carpet by the toe of his left boot. It occurred to River that she hadn’t heard him say a word out loud since the shawarma restaurant. She knew the signs well enough to tell that he was closing in fast on a breaking point.

“We’ll take care of it,” River repeated, hoping that Nadine wasn’t quite as sharp-eyed when it came to Clint. River suddenly felt the need to get rid of the woman before something happened that she’d have to report back to Fury. “Would you let Director Fury know that we’re going to stay at the hospital for the foreseeable future? He can find us here if he needs us.”

*****

Clint’s shoulders sagged with relief when he stepped out onto the hospital’s roof.

It had been getting way too claustrophobic downstairs. Even River holding his hand, as good as it felt, had been making him twitchy. Seeking out high ground when he needed space had been Clint’s habit for as long as he could remember. When he’d been a kid he’d climbed trees. At Carson’s Carnival it had been trapeze platforms or the rafters of the main tent. Rooftops had been his default since becoming an adult.

He felt like shit for leaving River downstairs to handle calling Phil’s family on her own, even though she’d assured him she didn’t mind. He’d felt like shit seeing Phil, hurt and drugged to the gills and still looking at Clint like he was _worried_ about him. He felt like shit seeing how packed this hospital was and knowing that he was partly responsible.

Mainly, Clint just felt like shit. It didn’t help that the alien painkiller that Rory had shot him full of back in Midtown was wearing off. He should feel good. Phil was alive. He was back home with River. Hell, they’d saved the fucking world. And Clint _did_ feel good about all of those things, but at the same time he could feel shame and anger and fear and _what now?_ twisting in his gut. 

“Clint?”

Clint dragged himself out of his introspective dark corner and blinked at Rory. Rory was standing in front of the TARDIS, looking back at Clint with a concerned frown.

“Come on,” Rory said, pushing open the TARDIS’s door. “Wool gather later. You promised me thirty minutes.”

“Right.” Clint followed Rory into the TARDIS.

He wasn’t sure how he’d been talked into this. Well, okay, that was a lie. Clint knew exactly how he’d been talked into this. He needed medical attention. He didn’t have the right to ask for it from the overworked doctors downstairs. The idea of going to SHIELD Medical made him feel like his shawarma was about to make a reappearance. That left Rory.

Not that he was a bad option. Hell, they’d all been patched up by Rory at one time or another. Running with the Doctor could be a dangerous business. Having a nurse on board the TARDIS was pretty damn handy.

The control room looked the same as it always did. Clint’s skin crawled a little, knowing that Loki was around here somewhere. Still, Clint trusted the TARDIS to have placed her prison cells way the hell away from the heart of the ship. He trailed after Rory through one of the interior doorways, stopping short and blinking at the sight that met him.

“Jesus Christ.” The TARDIS’s infirmary looked like the aftermath of one of Tony Stark’s more infamous parties. (Or what Clint imagined the aftermath of one of Stark’s parties would look like.)

“Yeah,” Rory said, throwing a rueful smile over his shoulder. “We wound up being pretty busy in here.”

Clint stood silently in the middle of the room while Rory cleared one of the medical beds. He suddenly just wanted to be alone. He was tempted to slip out. Screw medical treatment. He wasn’t dying. Clint had been hurt enough on the job that he’d be able to tell. He could disappear off into the TARDIS and just walk until he wasn’t capable of thinking anymore. 

On the other hand, given that Rory had to help him get his left leg up onto the medical bed, Clint acknowledged that he probably wouldn’t make it very far.

“Thirty minutes,” Clint reiterated as Rory pressed some buttons to start the scan. Clint tried not to flinch as a ribbon of light started to sweep over his body, starting at the top of his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rory nod slightly.

He had just started to relax a bit when Rory said quietly, “You know, walking around in pain isn’t going to fix any of the things you’re under the impression you need to atone for.”

Clint felt everything inside of him shut down again and tried to ignore the tell-tale beeping that told anyone present that his heart rate had sped up.

“Thirty minutes and you shut up,” he said shortly.

A part of Clint half hoped that Rory would get mad and throw him out. Instead, Rory just calmly shrugged.

“Agreed.”

*****

River eased herself down into an armchair in a semi-sheltered corner of the mezzanine outside of ICU. She briefly took advantage of the privacy by allowing her head to drop against the back on the chair and letting loose a long sigh. Exhaustion was starting to set in and _everything_ hurt. Her ankle was complaining the loudest, throbbing in time to her heartbeat, and another half dozen injuries were starting to demand attention as well. All River really wanted at this moment was to crawl into a warm bed with Clint and sleep for at least a week.

But this task needed to be completed first.

River unfolded Coulson’s list with a certain degree of curiosity. Her own list, like Clint’s, was purely _pro forma:_ they only had each other and Coulson listed as contacts. Coulson was different. He had people in his life who weren’t SHIELD.

Coulson’s list consisted of three contacts, two of whom were people that River would have predicted: his aunt, Alice Bell, and his cousin, Sam McAllister. The third name, though, gave her pause.

_Valerie Custis_  
_1634 Rosemont Drive_  
_Arlington, Virginia_  
_703-555-0423_

So. This was the mysterious Valerie.

River didn’t know much about Valerie except that she’d been a part of Coulson’s life for a long time, since well before River had joined SHIELD. She’d been Coulson’s girlfriend in college, but they’d drifted apart after his graduation. As adults they’d reconnected and fallen into some sort of, as far as River and Clint had been able to tell, exclusive friends-with-benefits relationship. At least Coulson had always downplayed it as being _friends-with-benefits._ Whatever it was, Coulson seemed to be quite happy with it, and River presumed that Valerie must be as well for it to have gone on as long as it had.

Something, though, had changed a few months ago. Coulson had gone to Virginia to spend New Year’s with Valerie and her family. He’d been in good spirits when he’d left, but when he’d come back he’d been different. River wasn’t sure what had happened on that visit, but whatever it was had hit Coulson hard. He was quiet, preoccupied, and, in River’s estimation, _miserable._ He hadn’t acted like himself at all. He’d started dating a cellist with a nose ring, for God’s sake. 

The only logical conclusion River had been able to draw was that Valerie had broken his heart.

Coulson couldn’t possibly have meant to leave her on his list. Could he? Surely he’d just forgotten to update it. All the same, though, the lists were sacrosanct. If Valerie Custis was on Coulson’s list, River had to contact her.

She started with family first, though. Poor Alice Bell didn’t take the news of her nephew’s condition especially well. Still, by the end of the call she’d pulled herself together enough to start working through the logistics of coming up to New York. River assured her that SHIELD would make arrangements to get her and her husband to the city and make sure they had a place to stay. She gave the same message to Coulson’s cousin, who accepted the news with gruff concern.

River dialed Valerie Custis’s number somewhat grudgingly. 

“Hello?”

“Valerie Custis?” River asked.

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“My name is Agent River Song. I’m with SHIELD. I work with Phillip Coulson. I’m calling to inform you that Phillip Coulson has been seriously injured in the line of duty. He’s in the intensive care unit at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York.”

River paused. Aunt Alice and Cousin Sam had broken in with a dozen questions at this point, but all River got now was silence.

“I see,” Valerie said after it had stretched on for several seconds. She sounded as unruffled as if River had called with a weather report. “Thank you for letting me know.”

 _Thank you for letting me know? THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME KNOW?_ River counted to ten before she went on.

“I’ll leave you my mobile number,” River said. “Please feel free to call me if you want updates.”

Valerie at least pretended to take down the number before thanking River again and hanging up. River touched the screen of her phone, ending the call. It was times like this that she missed rotary telephones. It was much more satisfying to have a handset that could be slammed back into its cradle.

“And a bloody fine day to you, too, Ms. Custis. Thank you for caring,” she muttered.

“Problem?” Amy asked, stepping around the corner.

“Nope. Not at all,” River said, putting her phone away and starting to push herself up out of the chair. “That’s all squared away. Phil’s aunt is going to—bugger _ALL!”_

The moment River put weight on her damaged ankle, pain shot up her leg and she quickly dropped back into her seat. The Doctor immediately popped around the corner. Amy just put her hands on her hips and glared down at River.

“All right, now, that’s it. We’re either finding a doctor here to take a look at you, or you can go up and let Rory do it. I don’t care which option you pick, but you’re picking one of them.”

In spite of everything, River couldn’t help but laugh. It was so. . . _motherly_ (in a brusque, Scottish sort of way). It was all the funnier because Amy had no idea that there was any sort of familial connection between them. Demon’s Run was still somewhere in her future.  


Now Amy looked both impatient and exasperated. River choked back her bout of giggles. “Rory, please,” she said.

She wanted to see how Clint was getting on.

*****

Rory’s exam lasted longer than thirty minutes, but since he kept his word and refrained from trying to pep talk him again, Clint let it slide.

The initial diagnosis was _hit by a double-decker bus,_ but Clint had managed to avoid any internal injuries that would try to sneak up and kill him later. The main areas of concern were a concussion, Clint’s rapidly-swelling left knee, and the sheer amount of glass that had gotten embedded in his skin.

Rory picked out the glass, sealing up the worst cuts with some sort of surgical glue that smelled like pine sap before slitting Clint’s pants leg up the side. He went to a cabinet and pulled out a roll of grey cloth. Rory cut off a length of it and started to wrap up the knee.

“I picked this up on Skyrim Prime.” Rory seemed to have determined that shop talk was safe. It was, Clint was willing to admit, better than dead silence. “It emits a mild bioelectric charge that helps speed healing. It lasts for about a month after it’s cut. It’s machine washable, but don’t put it in a dryer. I nearly started a fire the time I tried that.”

Clint heard voices and footsteps approaching through the control room, and a second later Amy and River entered the infirmary. River hobbled along slowly, leaning on Amy for support. The Doctor followed along behind them.

“I don’t know how you were even walking on this, let alone running and jumping and flipping through the air,” Amy said as she ushered River in. “Brought you another one, Rory.”

“Take a seat and a number, please. I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

Rory finished up with Clint and then moved to River. Clint winced as Rory eased River’s boot off; her ankle was almost black. He wondered when that had happened. Amazingly, Rory’s scan ruled out broken bones. He gave her a shot of something to ease the pain and swelling, and wrapped it up in the same cloth he’d used on Clint’s knee. The cut on her scalp was deemed superficial and had long since stopped bleeding. Amy insisted on taking River’s hair down and carefully brushing some sort of mysterious powdery substance through it that caused the matted blood to fall out in dry flakes. 

“Now I really am sending you two to bed,” the Doctor said when Clint and River were as patched up as they were going to get. “You both need a good long sleep. Don’t worry—I’m monitoring the hospital’s communications. If anything changes with Phil, I’ll come get you. Bed. Straight away.”

*****

River and Clint had been given their own room on the TARDIS some time ago. It always made River think of the Jules Verne novels she’d liked as a child, a whimsically twisted version of Victorian. It was cozy. There was a fireplace that crackled with holographic flames and a picture window that showed a scene of a London park on a perpetually rainy day. The bed was low and exceedingly comfortable. The attached bathroom had an endless supply of hot water and a tiled shower stall bigger than some New York studio apartments.

Their room had collected some odd bits of flotsam and jetsam from their adventures in Time and Space, things that would have been a little hard to explain at SHIELD. Clint’s gold medal in archery from the 8259 Olympics on the Moon of Taab hung on the wall alongside his prizewinning target. A sketch of River, dashed off by Leonardo DaVinci on a brief side-trip to Florence, was propped on the mantelpiece. 

Clint sank down on the side of the bed with a long sigh. “Hell of a day,” he said, starting to undo his tactical vest.

“It _has_ only been one day, hasn’t it?” River replied, opening the wardrobe. She pulled out a t-shirt and pair of sweats for Clint. “That’s hard to believe.”

It had been only a little over twelve hours since the Helicarrier had been attacked. The day had been a roller coaster ever since. She’d gotten Clint back, which was most definitely the high point. They’d spent hours believing that they’d lost Phil, which had been the horrific low. They’d battled an alien army with the fate of their world hanging in the balance.

Clint accepted the folded clothes without meeting her eyes, but made no move to finish getting out of his tactical gear. River sighed silently and sat down beside him, reaching over to lay her hand on his.

“Are you going to look at me at any point?” she asked. River kept her tone deliberately light, trying not to let on how worried she was getting. She was afraid that would make Clint withdraw even more.

Clint didn’t look up, but he turned his hand over to clasp hers, running his thumb over the scrapes and scratches she’d acquired. He paused this exploration when he reached her engagement ring. River had fished it out of her tactical jacket after Rory’s exam. Clint ran his thumb over the square blue stone like he’d never seen it before, then gripped her hand painfully tight.

“I tried to kill you,” he said.

“Yes, but you didn’t succeed. Obviously,” River replied.

“I planned the attack on the Helicarrier. I got people killed. If Phil really had died, that would be on me, too.”

“You were compromised,” River said firmly. “We all know that. Phil knows that. You never would have done any of those things if you were acting of your own volition. Put the blame where it belongs. This is Loki’s fault, not yours.”

“I told Loki about you.” Clint did look up now, looked her right in the eye, and River knew they had come to what Clint considered his worst betrayal of her. “I told him everything: what you are, where you came from, all of it.”

“I know,” River said. At Clint’s frown, she added, “I questioned Loki while he was on the Helicarrier. He dropped some broad hints, tried to use it to get to me. He failed.”

“Yeah, but what if he tells the Doctor?” Clint lowered his voice like he thought the Time Lord might somehow be eavesdropping. “If he tells the Doctor who you are, how much could it fuck up?”

“I don’t think he’ll bother. Even if he gets an opportunity, there’d be no strategic advantage in it for him, and I don’t think Loki does anything unless it will somehow be to his own advantage.” River lifted her hand, resting it against the side of Clint’s face. “If it becomes a problem, we’ll deal with it then. In the meantime, we’re not going to meet trouble halfway. All right?”

Clint nodded, then moved suddenly, dropping the folded clothes and wrapping his arms around her. River barely had time to get out a half-hearted, “Mind your knee,” before he dragged her over into his lap. On a different kind of day he would have started kissing her, and all thought of sleep or rest would have evaporated for the next couple of hours. Instead Clint just hugged her tight, leaning his forehead against River’s shoulder. 

River rested her head against his. “It’s all going to be all right,” she said.

It wouldn’t be all right today. It wouldn’t be all right tomorrow, or the day after, or next week, but it would be all right. River wouldn’t settle for anything less.

*****

As the sun began to set over New York, the Doctor prepared for company.

He dragged a card table out onto the roof of the hospital along with a pair of camp chairs and a lantern. He carried mugs, teabags, an electric kettle, and a plate of Jammy Dodgers up from the TARDIS’s kitchen. The Doctor congratulated himself on his excellent timing when he heard the door to the roof creak open just as the kettle started to boil.

“Come have a seat, Nick. The tea will be ready in a minute,” the Doctor said, filling a pair of mugs.

The Director of SHIELD approached, hands behind his back, looking over the scene with a dryly-raised eyebrow. 

“What, no roses and candles?” he asked.

“Ran short of time,” the Doctor replied. “Busy day, you know.”

“Christ, do I ever.” Fury sank into a chair and helped himself to one of the mugs. “Do you know where my agents are?”

The Doctor waved a hand at the TARDIS as he sat. “The children are all abed for the time being. How are matters down below?”

“Matters down below are a mess,” Fury said, blowing on his tea. “Just dealing with all of the alien tech and the bodies is going to be a massive undertaking. Hell, one of those whales went right through Grand Central’s main terminal. Clean-up and containment crews are going to be working around the clock for the foreseeable future. Thank you for agreeing to advise us on that, by the way.”

“Of course. We’re not going to want to move on until things have settled a bit here.”

“I thought you didn’t like to stick around in one place too long?”

“I don’t,” the Doctor replied, sipping his tea. “I get bored. But you’re set to keep me quite busy, so that handily solves the problem. I’m glad to help.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Fury smiled slightly. “There are some interesting stories starting to float around from some of the civilians that were caught in the battle. Stories about taking cover in a blue box that was bigger on the inside and came with its own emergency room.”

“Really? How incredibly odd.”

“I’m curious,” Fury said. “I remember the first time I met you. I remember what you were like. I know you’re a different man now, but you’re not _that_ different. I kind of thought you’d try to swoop into the middle of things back there. Save the day.”

“I thought about it,” the Doctor said. And in truth he had. He hadn’t known precisely how he might have gone about defeating the Chitauri army, but he could have given it a go. “Still, Captain Rogers made a good point. The TARDIS was far more useful as a shelter for the people who couldn’t get out of harm’s way otherwise. And besides. . .” The Doctor paused for effect. “You were right.”

That got Fury’s attention. “Do tell.”

“I can’t always be depended on. I live on the move. I can’t answer every possible distress call. And,” the Doctor frowned down at his mug, “I’m not one of you. You were right that humanity needs its own heroes. You’ve found some very good ones.”

“Thanks for the affirmation.” Fury sounded slightly amused. “It’s true. We do need our own heroes, but I don’t think it has to be an either-or situation. The Avengers and the Doctor. I’d say there’s plenty of room for both. And I want you to know that I am grateful for your help.”

“I’m glad I was able to give it.”

The Doctor and the Director settled into an easy silence, looking out over the city. It was growing darker now, and lights were starting to come on. They were patchy, visible evidence of the beating the electrical grid had taken, and they grew sparser and sparser down toward Midtown. The site of the battle was marked by spotlights, searchlights, and the flickering red and blue lights of official vehicles. 

Stark Tower rose up in the center of it all. A glowing letter “A,” all that was left of the building’s signage, shone brightly.

In the Doctor’s opinion, that wasn’t such a bad view.


	2. Chapter 2

**D-Day +2**

Tony Stark hated hospitals.

Pepper Potts was well-acquainted with this facet of Tony’s personality. In the beginning of her career as his personal assistant, she’d lost a couple of arguments to him about his need to visit one. _What’s the point of being a billionaire if I can’t shell out for concierge medical service?_ he’d say. Pepper had eventually given up, though she _had_ drawn the line at an at-home appendectomy. 

He also hated visiting hospitals. Hospitals were full of people who, to greater or lesser degrees, had lost control over some part of their lives. If Tony Stark was anything, he was a control freak.

He was also notoriously unpredictable. Pepper was pretty sure he worked at it.

Pepper found Tony down in his lab. He’d been in there more often than not over the past two days. Sometimes, when she’d peeked in, he’d been with Dr. Banner. Tony had brought Banner back to the Tower the evening after the battle and announced that he’d be staying for a while. Pepper had certainly had no objections. It wasn’t like they didn’t have the room; Stark Tower had a full five floors of corporate apartments. Besides, she’d seen the news coverage. She’d seen Banner (at least his alter ego) save Tony’s life. As far as she was concerned Banner could make Stark Tower his permanent address.

At the moment, though, Tony was alone. A 3-D hologram of Stark Tower rose from the center of his work table. Several of the top floors of the tower had been heavily damaged. Since repairs were needed anyway, Tony was already plotting some extensive renovations.

“I’m going to try to get down to Mount Sinai,” Pepper said. “I want to see if I can get some information on how Phil Coulson is doing. Would you like to come?”

She waited patiently to see if Tony would keep pretending to be so immersed in work that he couldn’t hear her. She raised a surprised eyebrow when, after several seconds, he killed the hologram.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “I’ll come along.”

It took a long time to get down to the hospital between the numerous detours and the checkpoints. Manhattan was under martial law. Everywhere Pepper looked she saw NYPD, FDNY, SHIELD, US Army, CDC, NASA, and at least half a dozen other official emblems. 

“This is crazy,” Pepper said.

Tony just made a noncommittal noise in response as he pulled the car into the parking garage near the hospital. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure we can’t just walk up to the nurses’ station and ask for information,” Tony said as they took the elevator up to the sixth floor. “Isn’t there a legal thing?”

“Director Fury’s assistant said that Agent Song and Agent Barton would be here,” Pepper said. “She said they’d know anything there was to know.”

They stepped off the elevator and followed the arrows to ICU. It was sobering to see how many people there were in the waiting area. Pepper had caught a short segment (part of the non-stop news coverage) about “second wave casualties” from the attack. Hospitals weren’t just dealing with people suffering from physical trauma; they were also inundated with patients suffering from medical conditions exacerbated by stress. Apparently the numbers of strokes and heart attacks in the city were at a record high.

Pepper scanned the room. She had only ever met Agent Barton once in passing so she wasn’t confident that she’d know him if she saw him. She’d spent considerably more time with Agent Song, but even so Pepper’s eyes passed over her three times before she actually recognized the woman.

Last year, when Pepper had first met Agent Song, she had been posing as a Stark Industries employee named Rachel Singer. She’d been placed there by SHIELD in order to get herself hired on as Tony’s new personal assistant so that she could monitor him for the agency. She had presented herself accordingly, looking the part of the sleek and vivacious girl Friday. 

This Agent Song looked very different. She wore jeans, a plain grey shirt, and sneakers. She had a brace strapped around one ankle. Pepper could see a large, fairly livid bruise on her forehead which disappeared under her hair, which was pulled back in a loose ponytail. She was leaning back against the wall by a window, reading something on her phone.

“Checking out the news feeds?” Tony said. “For the record, _#SHIELDmysterywoman_ is seriously trending.”

Agent Song looked up in surprise, straightening away from the wall. “Stark. Ms. Potts. What are you doing here?”

“We wanted to check up on Phil,” Pepper said, and she thought she saw something like appreciation in the agent’s eyes. “Can you tell us how he is?”

Agent Song was happy to share what she knew. Phil was hanging on. He’d been in and out of consciousness. Mostly out.

“His aunt and uncle are in with him now,” Agent Song said. “SHIELD brought them up from Pittsburgh this morning.”

“What about the cellist?” Tony asked. “Shouldn’t we get her out here?”

Pepper cast a concerned glance at Tony. Outwardly, he looked just fine. He’d assured her over and over again that he was just fine. (Pepper hadn’t been, not after watching him fly into and then fall out of that damn portal on endless repeat on the news coverage.) Still, Pepper had known this man long enough to detect the undercurrent of manic energy that meant that he was working at being fine.

When that manic energy picked a focus? Look out.

Agent Song actually winced a little bit. “No. That’s. . .they split up.”

“Because she moved to Portland? That’s easy. I can send a jet and--”

“That’s _really_ not necessary,” Agent Song said. “Really. That’s all over and done with.”

Tony looked let down, but he dropped the subject. Agent Song’s phone buzzed and she fished it back out of her pocket with an apologetic expression. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We’ve been having a hell of a time finding a hotel to put Phil’s family up in. Everything is full up with displaced persons, relief workers, and agency reps, not to mention stranded tourists. I was going to let them stay in my apartment, but when I called the superintendent to set it up, I found out that the building had had a close encounter with one of those Chitauri whales.”

Pepper winced. “I’m so sorry.”

River just shrugged.

“It was only an apartment. At any rate, we don’t want to make them go all the way out to the base, but. . .” Agent Song touched the screen of the phone and nodded. “Nadine’s found an available room at the Ludlow.”

“The Ludlow? They can’t stay there,” Tony said. “I hear that whole place is filling up with FEMA. No one wants to sleep next door to that. Besides, it’s all the way down on the Lower East Side.”

“Tony,” Pepper said, “if it’s what’s available--”

“They should stay at Stark Tower. They’ll be way more comfortable.”

Agent Song just blinked at him in silence. So did Pepper, but only for a second.

“You know, he’s right,” she said to Agent Song. “There’s plenty of room and we’re much closer to the hospital. We can even assign a driver to help them get around.”

It might even do Banner good to have a little company on his floor. When he wasn’t working in the lab with Tony he had been keeping himself extremely scarce.

Agent Song looked a little uncertain. “Well. . .”

“See? It’s perfect. Done deal.” Tony pulled out his phone. “I’ll get it set up now.”

“Thank you,” Agent Song said to Pepper as Tony stepped aside to call the Tower. “That’s very generous.”

“Yes, well, Tony has his faults. A lack of generosity has never been one of them,” Pepper replied, smiling after the man.

“How’s he doing?” Agent Song asked.

Pepper’s smile faded a little bit. “He’s all right. He’ll be fine.” Agent Song raised a doubtful eyebrow, and Pepper sighed. “Tony bounces back. It’s what he does.”

“Okay. Arrangements made,” Tony said, coming back to join them. “Whenever they’re ready to go, just call the Tower and we’ll send someone to pick them up. And when Phil wakes up, you tell him we’re pulling for him.”

*****

The TARDIS’s prison cells were far from the worst that Loki had ever seen, though they had an air of long neglect about them. Little wonder. The Doctor was not exactly known for taking prisoners.

Thor, grim and righteous, had marched Loki down here after the battle and locked him in without so much as a word. Loki hadn’t seen a living creature since: not a person, a mouse, a spider. He had half expected Fury to come barging in to try to claim him. (Perhaps the Director of SHIELD was still smarting from his last attempt to keep him contained.) A panel in the wall slid aside at regular intervals, revealing food and water. Loki wasn’t certain if the Doctor was responsible for that, or if the Time Lord’s living ship was determined to be a benevolent jailer.

No doubt this was meant to be part of his punishment—the threat of eternal solitude and boredom. Thor and the Doctor _could_ conceivably have conspired to bury him down here forever, or close to it, and forget about him. Loki had a little wager with himself, though, that that wasn’t their ultimate plan.

On the third day of his confinement, he was proven right.

Loki was lying on the cot in his cell, contemplating the ceiling, when he heard footsteps. Not brisk and military like Fury’s. Not strident like Thor’s. That left only one likely person.

“Hello again, Doctor,” Loki said.

“Hello, Loki,” the Doctor said, stepping out of the shadows. “How are you finding your accommodations?”

Loki chuckled, swinging his legs over the side of the cot and sitting up. He leaned casually back against the cell wall.

“You know, when I was a boy I wanted nothing more than to go traveling with you in your TARDIS,” he said. Loki made a show of glancing around the featureless square room. “Somehow this doesn’t live up to my former expectations.”

A smile tugged briefly at the corner of the Doctor’s mouth. “We’re not traveling.”

“No?” Loki’s surprise wasn’t entirely feigned. “We’re still on Earth? Whatever for?”

“There are some matters here that your brother and I need to see to,” the Doctor said. “Once that’s done, we’ll be taking you back to Asgard.”

“So that Odin can mete out justice. Naturally.” Well, he had known that could be a consequence. All things considered, it was likely to be more benign than what he could expect from Thanos. “I’ve no doubt that the humans are taking advantage of your expertise, but what is it that keeps my brother so busy?” Loki made a face. “Is it that woman from the desert again?”

“He’s trying to make amends for your actions.”

“Amends? Why? Is he afraid that Earth might seek reprisals? From _Asgard?”_ Loki laughed. “The people of this world are one step above fighting with sticks and stones. I hardly think Asgard has anything to fear.”

“A fear of reprisal isn’t why one makes amends.”

“Well, Doctor, you would know if anyone would. Last of the Time Lords and all.” Loki saw a shadow pass over the Doctor’s face and rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t play the tortured penitent. You brought an end to war and destruction, just as I attempted to do here. Ruthlessness is a necessary quality for those who wish to keep order.”

“Keeping order?” the Doctor said. “Is that what you were doing when you stabbed Phil Coulson through the heart?”

Loki made a concerted effort not to let his lip curl. He had known who Phil Coulson was when they had met on the detention level of the Helicarrier. Loki had drawn a lot of information out of Barton about Coulson and River Song, curious as to what made these three worthy of accompanying the Doctor on his travels. He had seen their pictures, learned their faces, before he’d departed for Stuttgart. 

_You lack conviction._ The dying man’s words still rankled in a way Loki didn’t care to examine too closely.

“He shouldn’t have got in my way.”

The Doctor had the nerve to look at him with half-concealed sorrow. “You really have changed.”

“You’re just getting that now?” Loki asked quietly.

The Doctor silently shook his head and turned to walk away. Loki got up from his cot.

“Doctor, wait.”

The Doctor stopped, but didn’t turn. Loki walked up to the barrier of his cell.

“As a gesture of goodwill,” he said, “I need to tell you something about River Song.”

“I’ve already told you that River Song’s secrets, whatever they may be, are her’s to tell,” the Doctor replied. “I’m not listening to this.”

“Well, you _need_ to listen.” Loki’s voice went hard. He waited until the Doctor turned to face him again before he continued. “No secrets, just a warning. Don’t trust her. Don’t turn your back on her. That woman was born to be your death.”

“No one is ever born just to be the death of someone else, Loki.”

The Doctor walked away, leaving Loki alone again in the prison deck. Loki waited until he heard the distant clang of the door before he allowed a slow grin to turn up the corners of his mouth.

There was no telling whether that little seed of doubt would take root or, if it did, how large it would grow. It might flourish, it might not, but the potential was there. After all, nothing was more destructive than the truth, especially when it was selectively applied. It would do the Doctor good have that pedestal he put his friends on shaken a bit.

Loki lay back down on his cot, fingers laced under his head, and settled in to enjoy the silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**D-Day +4**

The Doctor had always loved a challenge. Helping Nick Fury get New York City put back to rights definitely qualified. The first job he’d drawn had been the little problem of a dead space whale in the middle of Grand Central Station. The Doctor and his two assigned SHIELD assistants spent a few hours assessing the mess before taking their findings back to SHIELD’s downtown office building.

“Yes, I understand that the Army Corp of Engineers is of the opinion that dismemberment will be the easiest means of removal,” the Doctor said as he and his helpers walked through the main doors the building. “I’m telling you that ploric acid is the best thing for disposing of organic matter. One good spray will break the entire carcass, flesh and bone, down to dust. Are you getting this, Fitz?”

“I’m Simmons,” the young woman replied. She was typing on her tablet as she walked. “But, sir, I’m not sure reducing the carcass to such small particles would be advisable. It would be all too easy for the clean-up teams to inhale them, and goodness knows what sort of pathogens they could be carrying.”

“Not if they wear HAZMAT suits,” her colleague said. ( _That_ one was Fitz.) “All we’d need would be some industrial-grade vacuums. It could work.”

The Doctor thought he could get used to having a couple of scientists following him around. He liked people who could look a disaster in the face and see learning opportunities. This disaster was going to be equal to several lifetimes-worth of education for humanity.

“All right, off you go to give that data to your supervisors,” the Doctor said as they passed through the Security scanners and entered the lobby. “Tell them I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

Fury had requested that he check in once they were back.

Fitz and Simmons took the main staircase down to the lower research levels while the Doctor headed for the bank of elevators. His eyes idly drifted to a group of people coming in through a side entrance. The Doctor pulled up short and altered course when he spotted a familiar figure among them.

“Clint! What are you doing down here?”

As he got closer the Doctor noticed that something wasn’t right. A few somethings, in fact. The most glaringly obvious was that Clint was _here_ and not back at Mount Sinai. Clint and River had been staying as close to Phil as they could possibly manage, spending their days in the hospital and going up to the TARDIS to eat and rest. Clint was walking at the center of a group of four grim-looking agents. He wasn’t restrained that the Doctor could tell, but he knew a guard escort when he saw one. And the expression on Clint’s face? The Doctor had seen men condemned to the Tower of London who’d looked more optimistic.

The grim agent in the point position held up an arm to halt the Doctor’s approach. “That’s far enough, sir.”

The Doctor halted, but otherwise ignored the strange agent, leaning to the side so he could see his friend. 

“Clint, what’s going on?”

Clint’s expression was stony, but at the Doctor’s question it shifted into something vaguely hostile.

“Stay out of this, Doc,” he said.

“Sir,” the point agent said, “I’m going to have to ask you to back away.”

“Where are you taking him?” the Doctor demanded.

Everything had been fine when he’d left the hospital this morning. Clint had been fine. Well, not _fine_ exactly. He was clearly wrestling with guilt; God knew the Doctor was well acquainted with those signs. Now he was here, apparently in SHIELD custody. What the hell had happened?

“Jesus Christ, Doc!” Clint looked directly at the Doctor for the first time. He was angry, oh yes, but humiliation was running a close second from what the Doctor could see. “Back the fuck off. I don’t need your help, all right? Can we go? Please?”

This last was to the agents escorting him and they obligingly moved Clint along, pushing past the Doctor, crossing the lobby, and disappearing down a side corridor. The Doctor watched until they were out of sight before turning on his heel and striding back to the elevators.

*****

Clint kept his eyes straight ahead as his escort team let him down the corridor to the elevators that would take them straight down to the detention level. They could have accessed that level directly from the underground garage. Parading Clint through the main lobby had meant taking the long way around, and had been Rumlow’s idea. The man was still pissed that the other agents had overruled him on the need for restraints. If Rumlow had his way, Clint knew that he’d be in a full set of shackles.

As it was, they had attracted enough attention. Running into the Doctor had been shitty luck because, of course, he’d had to make a scene.

“Jesus, Barton,” Rumlow said as they boarded the elevator. “How many _more_ alien buddies do you have floating around out there?”

“That guy was an alien?” Agent Kennison asked. She looked highly skeptical.

“That’s the word from upstairs. He’s an old friend of our boy Barton apparently.”

Clint resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Given the depth of the shit he was in, did Rumlow really think he was going to scare him by crying _Hawkeye consorts with aliens_ in front of other agents?

They took him to Interview Room 4 where Clint’s panel of interrogators had already gathered: Agent Lumsden from the Triskellion; Dr. O’Shea, the head of Psych for the New York office; and Agent Maria Hill. Well, of course. If Fury wasn’t running this debriefing himself, Hill would be the next most logical person to head it up.

Clint wasn’t sure if that meant he was screwed or not. A few years ago, he would have been sure that Hill was eager to bury him. He’d gotten to know Hill better since then, though. They’d probably never be best pals, but whatever else could be said of Hill, she was one of the most fundamentally fair people Clint had ever met. That meant that he was probably about to get what he deserved.

Whatever that was.

“Agent Barton, please be seated,” Hill said, nodding to the single chair on his side of the table. “And let’s get started.”

*****

“He’s not dangerous,” the Doctor said, stalking back and forth in front of Fury’s desk. “I told you he’s not dangerous. Loki’s control over him has been completely severed. There’s no reason whatsoever to place him under arrest.”

Fury tried not to let his eye stray longingly to the bag of take-out Nadine had brought him a scant twenty seconds before an agitated Time Lord had stormed into his office. It had been a long-ass week and regular meals had slipped pretty far down the priority list.

“Agent Barton hasn’t been placed under arrest, Doctor,” he said. “He’s been brought in for debriefing.”

“Is that meant to make it sound better?”

Clearly, food wasn’t going to happen until this particular fire was put out. Fury stifled a sigh and folded his hands on his desk.

“Agent Barton collaborated with an enemy force. He aided Loki’s escape from the Tesseract facility, infiltrated and robbed the Museum of Natural History in Stuttgart, and planned and led an assault on SHIELD.” Fury held up a hand to cut off what looked like was going to be a tirade from the Doctor. “Would he have done any of that had he been acting of his own free will? No, of course not. Are there people out there who would be happy to hold him accountable anyway? Yes. Which is why we’re doing this _by the book.”_

At least as by the book as they could be given that alien mind control was new territory.

“So, you’re putting him through this for show?” the Doctor asked.

“Partly,” Fury admitted. 

He’d be damned if he let this mess cost him one of his best agents, but he also couldn’t just slap Barton on the wrist or turn a blind eye to what he had done. That was a recipe for an avalanche of resentment from other agents. At the absolute worst, it could lead to vigilante-style reprisals. As much as Fury would like to think that SHIELD agents were all above that sort of shit, his confidence in human nature wasn’t that high. 

Better to haul Barton onto the carpet in an aboveboard manner and let everyone know that he’d been unequivocally cleared of wrongdoing.

“Bringing him in like this is also purely practical,” Fury said. “We need to debrief Barton so that we can be sure we have as much intel as possible about Loki and this Thanos character he was working for. We need to know as much as we can about the mind control so that we can start devising defenses against it. And we need to be sure that, after all of this, he’s psychologically stable. That’s for _his_. benefit as much as ours. You know Barton. You say he’s your friend. Even if I were to just let him off the hook for all of this, do you think there’s a chance in hell he’d let _himself_ off that easily?”

The Doctor seemed to deflate. “No,” he said, lowering himself into a chair. “No, he’s capable of being quite hard on himself.”

Fury nodded. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Barton was already beating himself up over what had happened. If Coulson didn’t pull through (and there was still the chance that he wouldn’t) the self-recrimination was going to hit apocalyptic levels. It was best to let SHIELD Psych have a crack at Barton before that happened.

“Trust me, Doctor,” Fury said, “I’m not just going to hang one of the Avengers out to dry.”

The Doctor smiled faintly, and Fury was glad to see that his rant seemed to have run its course.

“Yes, well, you might want to inform him of that,” he said. “I think he’s expecting you to toss him in the dungeon and throw away the key.”

“I’ll put it on my list.”

Fury was going to have to sit Barton and Song both down for a talk about their future soon, anyway. Whether they were aware of it yet or not, they weren’t just SHIELD agents anymore. The Avengers Initiative had gone from a plan on the drawing board to being a real live team, and Hawkeye and Talon were a part of it.

They had helped save the world, and their lives were never going to be the same.

*****

Ever since the agents had come to take Clint in for debriefing, River hadn’t been able to settle. Amy had finally forced her outside to burn off some of the nervous energy.

“Come on. We’re going for a walk,” Amy said.

They didn’t go far, just lapping the block. River had felt like she could probably make it to the New Jersey border on foot before she settled, but a bum ankle made an interstate hike rather improbable. Even with Rory’s magic bandage, she started to limp after two circuits.

Amy nudged her arm, pointing at the park across the street. “What do you say we find a likely looking bench, yeah?”

Amy led the way. River followed.

Central Park was unexpectedly full today. River didn’t know why she was surprised by that. It was a beautiful day in New York City, and there was nothing like a near-apocalypse to make people want to congregate. The atmosphere felt almost like a village fair.

“They’re not really going to do anything bad to Clint, right?” Amy said as she sat down next to River. “I mean, they said they’d bring him back to the hospital for the night, didn’t they?”

“It depends on how you define _bad,”_ River said, stretching her sore ankle out in front of her. “I just wish they could have held off for a little while longer. At least until Phil is better.”

Was Clint going to be physically harmed? No. (Most likely.) But Clint was just starting to get his equilibrium back after everything that had happened. River knew SHIELD’s rationale for doing their debriefings and evaluations now, but she was afraid that Clint was going to be nothing but a bundle of raw nerves by the end of it. It would undermine what ground he had gained.

“He didn’t want you to go with him?” Amy asked.

Of course, Amy could hardly have missed the intense, whispered conversation River and Clint had had right before the SHIELD agents had escorted Clint out of the building.

“Things will go worse for him if it looks like he can’t get through this without me holding his hand,” River said grimly. Those had been Clint’s words, not hers. She knew he was right, but that hadn’t made it any easier to watch Clint be taken away. Dammit, she’d just gotten him back.

“So, break it down,” Amy said. “What’s the worst that can happen to him?”

Amy’s brand of Scottish practicality was what River needed. She set her worries aside for the moment and focused on facts.

“The worst case scenario? He could be brought up on charges for collaborating with an enemy,” River said. “I think—I _hope_ —that’s a stretch they won’t make. The more realistic worst case scenario is that they could decide he can no longer function as a SHIELD agent.”

“So, the worst case scenario is that he could lose his job,” Amy said.

“You say that like it’s like getting sacked from Tesco.” River tried to curb her impatience and frustration. None of this was Amy’s fault, after all. “SHIELD’s not just a job for us. Do you understand that? When SHIELD recruited Clint, he had nothing. No hope, no future, nowhere to go. It was the same with me. SHIELD took us in. It saved us. It’s our home.”

If they lost their home, it would be a blow. If Clint was ousted from SHIELD, there was no question but that River would walk out with him. It would be hard, no two ways about it, but they would survive. They’d have each other, and they’d be all right.

River still hoped that it wouldn’t come to that.

“Right.” Amy looked much more somber. “But like you say, that’s _worst case._ There’s nothing saying that’s going to happen. Let’s at least wait until Clint gets back tonight and we hear how the first day went before we start freaking out, okay?”

“That would be the reasonable thing to do,” River admitted, even if it was easier said than done. 

River tipped her head back, closing her eyes. She hadn’t properly been outside since the day of the battle. Neither she nor Clint had wanted to venture very far from Phil in case. . .well, just in case. It felt good to be out in the sun, and not surrounded by the sounds and smells of the hospital. 

Her moment of peace was soon broken by high-pitched shrieking and running footsteps coming up the path from her left. 

River’s eyes popped open and she automatically gathered herself to spring up into action when a group of kids, eight or nine of them, ran past the bench. “Avengers, this way!” someone from the front of the pack yelled, and the whole herd veered off the path into the grassy area across from the benches. River blinked. She saw a red-white-and-blue shield, a couple of Iron Man masks, and a makeshift red cape in the midst of the melee. 

Two of the kids were carrying toy bows.

Amy laughed. “Hey, look. I think that one is you,” she said, pointing out one little girl who kept jumping up and kicking at the air.

“Well, that’s. . .different,” River said. She shook her head and pushed herself up off the bench. “Come on. We should probably head back.”

*****

“I still can’t believe Fury lied about this,” Steve grumbled as the entrance of Mount Sinai Hospital came into sight in the distance.

His companion seemed far more determined to be philosophical.

“He wished to kindle the fires of vengeance,” Thor said. “And he did so, quite well.”

“He did it by being cruel and manipulative,” Steve replied.

He understood that Fury had wanted to unite and motivate the Avengers. Steve had spent the first part of his army career doing war propaganda—he got it. But using Agent Coulson’s supposed death to do it crossed a line for Steve.

And that little stunt with the bloody trading cards was just the icing on the cake.

Steve and Thor made their way along the sidewalk. Steve was back in his civies. (His first SHIELD liaison, Agent Antoine Triplett, had teased him a little about his “grandpa clothes.” Apparently slacks and plaid button-downs weren’t the fashion any more.) Someone at SHIELD had dug up a hoodie and pair of jeans for Thor. Red capes and armor weren’t exactly low profile.

“Agent Coulson is a brave and honorable warrior,” Thor said. “I’m sure he would understand Fury’s tactics.”

Thor’s assessment of Agent Coulson made Steve color a bit from embarrassment. A _brave and honorable warrior_ had definitely not been Steve’s first (or even his second) impression of Coulson. He had seen an average, unassuming man, a little south of middle age who was more than a bit overawed by Captain America. He had seen a cog in SHIELD’s machinery, nothing more. 

Steve Rogers, of all people, should have known better than to judge on appearances. He had seen the security footage of Agent Coulson’s face-off with Loki. _Brave and honorable warrior_ was about right, and it had nearly cost the man his life. 

That was what brought Steve to Mount Sinai. He could have just asked someone at SHIELD for an update on Agent Coulson’s condition, but Steve felt he owed him the respect of coming here in person.

His thoughts were interrupted by a slap on his arm. He looked over at Thor to find the Asgardian beaming and focused on something ahead.

“Speaking of brave and honorable warriors,” Thor said. He nodded at a pair of women who were crossing the street, heading for the hospital. One was small with golden-brown hair, and was walking with a hitch in her step. The other was much taller with a distinctive mane of bright red hair. “River! Amy!”

The two women looked surprised to see Steve and Thor. River, in Steve’s estimation, also looked very stressed.

“I hope we didn’t pick a bad time to visit,” he said.

“Not at all.” River had gone all calm and professional, and Steve saw a slight smile surface. “It’s good of you to come.”

Coulson was still in ICU and not up for visitors, so River and Amy led Steve and Thor to the coffee shop off the hospital’s lobby. Steve bought a round while the others staked out a corner table.

“Phil’s holding his own,” River said once they were settled. “His aunt and uncle are here. They’re upstairs with him now. He hasn’t really woken up yet, though. Long-term. . .they just don’t know.”

She looked composed. She sounded composed. Steve had heard enough around SHIELD over the last few days to know that she must be putting on a very good front. The way people talked about Coulson, Barton, and Song made them sound like a very small, tightly-knit family, much the way Steve and Bucky and the Commandoes had been.

No wonder she had punched Fury in the face.

“I was there when he was injured,” Thor said, “but I fear I was helpless to intervene. He faced Loki alone. I have known very few warriors with that kind of courage.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Phil for you,” Amy said. “You should have been there the day he passed himself off as the Doctor. He walked straight into a compound full of angry aliens with nothing but a sonic screwdriver and a smile.”

“Now that sounds like a story,” Steve said.

Apparently it was a story involving their new friend, the immortal time-traveling alien. Steve wondered what it said about his life that that only seemed mildly weird.

They didn’t overstay their welcome. River and Amy clearly had other things on their plates. But while Thor was bidding Amy good-bye (in his singularly Asgardian way) Steve drew River aside for a moment. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a carefully folded envelope.

“Can I leave these with you?” he asked.

River accepted the envelope, unfolding it and lifting the flap. Steve saw her swallow hard at the contents: Agent Coulson’s cards, all signed. She closed the envelope and looked up at Steve, completely unruffled again. 

“I’ll make sure they’re taken care of. Thank you.”

*****

Clint would seriously rather endure a good beating than spend hours on end talking to people in an official capacity. This day had done nothing to make him change his mind, even though it hadn’t been as bad as he’d been braced for. Hill hadn’t pulled any punches, but she hadn’t delivered any low blows or cheap shots, either.

Going over and over and over the series of events had been exhausting, though, and Clint just didn’t have good answers to a lot of their questions. It was going to be more of the same tomorrow. The debriefing was set to take days, but for now Clint was free. It was well past sunset when his driver/escort dropped him off in front of Mount Sinai. There was no security team this time. SHIELD had decided that Clint wasn’t a candidate for court martial and could be released on his own recognizance.

“I’ll be back to pick you up tomorrow at 0900,” Agent Hayes said as Clint let himself out of the SUV. Clint nodded and waved him off.

Clint stopped by ICU first thing. Rory and Amy were in the waiting room, and Phil’s aunt and uncle were just getting ready to leave for the night. No change in Phil’s condition.

“River went up to the TARDIS a while ago,” Amy said. “We’re about to go get some dinner if you want to come.”

“No. Thanks,” Clint said. “I’m not hungry.”

 _That’s it. You’re going straight to Medical._ That was the crack that Phil would make if he were up to making cracks. Amy and Rory let it pass without comment.

Clint made his way to the roof and let himself into the TARDIS. The Doctor was up at the central console, working on something. Clint slowly climbed the steps up to the control deck. “Hey, Doc.”

There was no way the Doctor didn’t see him coming, but the Time Lord looked up with an air of faint surprise. “Hello, Clint. You’re back, I see.”

“Yeah. Did I miss anything?”

The Doctor shook his head, continuing to key God-knew-what into the TARDIS’s controls. “It’s been pretty quiet, honestly.”

“Good.” Clint shuffled slightly. “Look, Doc, about this morning. . .”

“I interfered.” The Doctor stopped typing, turning his full attention and a slightly sheepish smile on Clint. “I seem to make a habit of that. Sometimes it’s a good thing, sometimes it isn’t. I overstepped. I’m sorry.”

After the day Clint had had, it kind of threw him for a loop to have this conversation be so easy.

“Thanks,” Clint said. “So, are we good?”

“Clint, we were never _bad.”_

The Doctor seemed to consider the matter closed and went back to tinkering with the control panel. He looked up again when Clint cleared his throat.

“Hey, Doc, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You’ve been inside my head. And you know Loki. Hell, you probably know how that scepter of his works better than any of SHIELD’s scientist ever will.”

The Doctor leaned back against the console, arms folded. He nodded encouragingly when Clint paused. It took Clint a second or two to scrape up the guts to ask the question that had been eating at him.

“Do you know why he had such an easy time turning me?” Clint asked.

He had turned on SHIELD. Hell, he had turned on _River._ And Clint wasn’t the only one asking the question. It had come up several times during his little Q &A session today. _Agent Barton, do you have any insight into how Loki was able to gain that level of control over you?_ Clint hadn’t had an answer. He couldn’t help but wonder, though, if there was some sort of deep-seated flaw in his mind or his character that had made him such an easy mark.

He figured that if anyone one could tell him—and would tell him honestly—it would be the Doctor.

“I fear I haven’t had a chance to take a good look at the scepter yet,” the Doctor said, “but I’ve seen plenty of technology like it. It all operates on the same basic principle. It’s a simple matter of conversion.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“It converts what’s already within a person to the purposes of the device’s operator,” the Doctor said. “Let me put it this way. You can’t convert an apathetic person. It’s impossible. There’s simply nothing to work with. You, on the other hand? You care. You love. You love River and Phil and even SHIELD. You have purpose. You believe in what you do. You don’t live your life half-heartedly. Loki was able to take all of that and turn it into pure loyalty to him and focus on his mission. He was able to turn you because there is so much in you to be turned.”

Clint studied the reflections on the control deck’s glass floor, digesting this information. Well, he had wanted to know, hadn’t he?

“Clint?” 

When Clint looked up, it wasn’t into the face of the Doctor he usually saw. This wasn’t the quirky guy who danced like a drunk giraffe and occasionally ran around in a fez. This was the old man, the one who had seen a lot of bad shit go down in his time.

“That is a _good_ thing,” the Doctor said. “Believe me. The worst thing in the universe is for a person to be unable to care. You have a big heart. You should never consider that a weakness or wish it away. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” Clint shifted uncomfortably. “Is River around?”

The Doctor beamed. “That’s the spirit! Yes, I think she’s in your room. Just follow your nose. You’ll find her.”

*****

Amy and Rory had ganged up on River and sent her to bed. Not that they phrased it in precisely those terms.

“You’re going to burn yourself out at this rate,” Rory’d said. “Go relax for a bit. We’ll man the waiting room.”

River didn’t chafe at this too much, mostly because she didn’t have the energy. She was tired, and the stress wasn’t helping. River went back to her room on the TARDIS, tucked Phil’s trading cards away in the nightstand, and curled up on the bed with a book. She’d keep herself scarce for one hour. That should appease the Ponds.

That was the plan, anyway. In reality, the holographic flames flickering in the fireplace and the rainy picture window conspired to ensure that she never made it past page two of her book. River let her eyes drift shut for just a moment. The next thing she knew, her internal clock was telling her that almost three hours had passed. Her more mundane senses told her that she was no longer alone. She could feel the warmth of someone sitting by her hip and a familiar hand brushed lightly across her hair.

“Go back to sleep,” Clint said.

“Fat bloody chance of that,” River said, opening her eyes. She sat up and wrapped her arms around Clint. “Are you okay?”

In spite of the rationality that Amy had forced out of her earlier, River hadn’t quite been able to shake the lingering fear that SHIELD would whisk Clint off to some undisclosed location for “detainment.”

“Yeah.” Clint squeezed her tight before pulling back a little. He looked worn out, River noted, but calmer, more steady than he’d been since this mess had started. “The debriefing is still ongoing. They have a lot of questions about, well, everything. But Hill says they’re not arresting me.”

“Good. Because my coming to bust you out would not have been pretty.”

River was gratified to see a little bit of Clint’s old smile before he leaned in and kissed her. 

It had been two months since they’d last had leave together, and they’d both had some close brushes with danger if not death in the past week. They’d nearly lost each other more than once. It didn’t take long at all for the kiss to escalate. In a matter of minutes, River and Clint were stripping each other out of their clothes with far more speed than finesse. River fell backward onto the bed, pulling Clint down with her.

“Christ, I needed that,” Clint said some time later when they’d had a chance to catch their breath.

“You and me both.” River tucked herself tighter against Clint’s side. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

“I’m all right with that.”

It was tempting to just stay there, shut away in that quiet little corner of the universe inside of the TARDIS. Hiding from their problems indefinitely had never been their style though. Eventually, Clint and River climbed out of bed, got dressed, and ventured out into their own world again.

They still had a vigil to keep.


	4. Chapter 4

**D-Day +5**

Rory was used to spending his days in hospitals. He was a nurse; it was something of a job requirement. There was a big difference between working and waiting, though. He found the latter to be the much more difficult part. Still, Rory had people to look after. Just now he was seeing to Mrs. Alice Bell, Phil’s aunt from Pittsburgh. She and her husband, Gary, were what people called salt-of-the-earth. They were very easy folks to like.

“I can’t get over how nice everyone’s been,” she said as she and Rory rode the lift up from the hospital cafeteria. They’d gone down to fetch coffee.

“Have you gotten settled into Stark Tower all right?” Rory asked.

“Oh, yes. Ms. Potts has been a big help, and that nice Dr. Banner is just across the hall from us. Mr. Stark even came down himself the first night to make sure we were situated. He’s shorter than I thought he’d be.”

Rory’s lips twitched. He’d thought the same thing when he’d met Tony Stark in person.

“It’s nice to get to meet some of Phil’s friends, finally,” Aunt Alice added as they stepped off the lift. “He talks about Clint and River a lot. I could tell he thinks the world of them, and I’ve told him he should bring them down to visit sometime, but he never has. I’ll have to get after him about that again.”

This last was voiced with a certain stubbornness that Rory recognized from dealing with relatives of critical patients. Alice Bell was determined that her only sister’s only child would bloody well get better so that she could “get after him.”

Alice’s husband, Gary, met them at the nurses’ station, smiling when his wife handed over a cup of coffee. Rory started shooing them both toward the exit.

“Go stroll for a bit. Get a change of scenery,” he said. “I’ll look after things here.”

No one tried to stop Rory from going back to sit with Phil. The nurses here had no doubt mentally lumped him into Phil’s “family” group. So long as he wasn’t making a nuisance of himself, they had more important things to pay attention to.

“Hi, Phil,” Rory said quietly as he sat down at Phil’s bedside. “I thought I’d keep you company for a bit.”

There was no response. Phil’s periods of consciousness had thus far been short and infrequent. There was no twitch of a hand or flicker of an eyelid to indicate that he was aware of his surroundings. Still, Rory always liked to operate on the assumption that his patients could hear him. It was better than thinking of them being lonely and scared in the dark.

“I had a crack at the TARDIS’ computers while the Doctor was out,” Rory said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He tapped a particular blue icon on its screen. “I never really fancied myself the hacker type, but I managed to get into the hospital’s system. See?”

He held the phone up to show Phil his own medical file.

“I know, I know. It’s not exactly ethical,” Rory said. “Then again, you work for SHIELD. I’ve seen some of the ways you get information. Besides, it’s for a good cause.”

Rory settled in as comfortably as was possible in a plastic hospital chair and swiped to the first page of Phil’s file. “Now. Let’s see exactly how you’re getting on.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to an overabundance of tea, I have full-blown insomnia (and a cat who is behaving like a little brat because she wanted to be in bed two hours ago). So, since it's past midnight and therefore technically Sunday, new chapter!
> 
> For those who celebrate, Happy Easter to you.

**D-Day +7**

Coulson held his own for a week. Then his condition started to deteriorate rapidly.

The doctors were throwing around words like _sepsis_ and _kidney failure._ Amy had been married to a nurse long enough to know that when your kidneys went, you were pretty much a goner. Poor Aunt Alice—her face turned a sickly shade of grey as the doctor delivered the news. River didn’t look much better. 

Amy felt her hope falter for the first time since Fury had shown up in that shawarma restaurant to tell them that Phil was alive. 

“We’ll do everything we can. He’s already held on far longer than we thought he could,” the doctor told them. The woman was trying to be gentle with them, Amy could tell, but there was just no good way to say _This person who you care about isn’t going to make it._

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?” Amy said quietly aside to Rory.

She watched River, who was standing off by herself, staring down at her mobile. Amy knew what was probably going through her mind. Clint had been taken off for debriefing again that morning. Should she call and say that he needed to come back, even though there was nothing any of them could do but wait?

“Not necessarily.”

Amy glanced sharply over at Rory: Her Rory who was kind and compassionate and yet never one to pussyfoot around a hard truth. He had quite a determined look on his face.

“When Alice and Gary go back, grab River and meet me up in the TARDIS,” he said. “I have an idea.”

*****

“I found this in the TARDIS’s medical stores,” Rory said, holding up a small vial of cloudy green liquid. “It’s called. . .well, it’s alien, so I can’t pronounce it, but the translation is something like Elixir of Panacea.”

It had taken Rory hours of cross-referencing and digging to find it, whittling down the many available drugs to something that would be effective (but not call-the- _Enquirer_ effective) and that was safe for humans in general and for Phil in particular. 

“This will help him? You’re sure?” River asked.

“As sure as I can be,” Rory replied. “This should get him over the hump. It’ll accelerate his healing, give him a boost so that his body can repair itself before it gives out. At least, I’m pretty sure it will.”

“So, what are we waiting for?” Amy asked.

“Permission,” Rory said, looking pointedly at River.

Alice Bell might be Phil’s next-of-kin, but in Rory’s mind River and Clint were his family. Irregular, yes, but what about this whole situation wasn’t?

“It’s an alien drug. As far as I know, it’s never been used on a human being,” Rory added. “It’s a risk.”

River nodded slowly. “If we don’t do anything, we’re going to lose him anyway,” she said. “Let’s try it.”

It took a little maneuvering. It wasn’t as if they could just walk into the intensive care unit and administer an experimental treatment without so much as a by-your-leave. Fortunately, River had lots of experience in planning missions that required a bit of slight of hand. At her direction, Amy got Phil’s aunt and uncle away from his bedside for a few minutes. As soon as they left, Rory and River slipped in.

While River kept watch, Rory carefully withdrew the syringe of Elixir from his pocket, uncapped it, and injected it into Phil’s IV line.

There was no immediate response. The monitors continued to beep slowly and steadily. Phil’s chest rose and fell in time with the ventilator. He looked worse to Rory than he had even just the day before, his face pale and his eyes shadowed and slightly sunken.

“Now what?” River asked.

“Now we cross our fingers and wait.”

*****

One moment he was floating through thick grey fog, punctuated by muffled sounds. The next thing Coulson knew, he was being near blinded by bright white light.

There was light, and the cacophony of sound was suddenly overwhelming. Coulson blinked against the light and tried to turn his head toward the source of the noise. His body wasn’t cooperating very well—he felt incredibly heavy and there was pain like a freight train had punched through is sternum—but he was able to catch a glimpse of an elderly man and woman who he thought he recognized.

That was as much as he had time to register before the grey fog swirled up around him again.

It didn’t stay, though. The fog began to recede in stages, leaving Coulson awake and aware for a little longer each time. These longer periods of consciousness brought with them greater alertness. He came around again to find the same elderly man and woman by his bed. _Aunt Alice. Uncle Gary. Was he is Pittsburgh?_ Another time he woke to find an unfamiliar and perplexed-looking doctor shining a penlight into his eyes. _Leave me alone. I want to sleep._

He woke up again to find a woman sitting very close and watching him, her folded arms resting on the side of his bed. He thought he should recognize her. She had a young face and old eyes, and Coulson’s mind cast about for a few seconds before he landed on a name. _River._ That name triggered a cascade of memories and questions, but the tube down his throat proved to be a frustrating barrier. River seemed to have anticipated this.

“We’re okay. We’re all okay,” she said. “We got Clint back. He’s fine. He’ll be here tonight. We got the Tesseract back, too. We stopped Loki. He’s locked up. And you’re going to be fine. Just rest.”

Coulson didn’t want to rest. He wanted to know more. How long had he been here? Where was here? Where was Clint if he wasn’t here right now? How had Loki been stopped? 

But he was still unbelievably tired and the fog rose back up to claim him again. The last thing he was aware of was River’s smile and her hand on his shoulder.


	6. Chapter 6

**D-Day +8**

Fury had been keeping his distance from Mount Sinai. He had a lot on his plate and he couldn’t do anything practical there to help. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t keeping close tabs on what was happening down there.

He was in the middle of a marathon meeting with the World Security Council when the alert came through on his phone that Coulson had turned a corner and started to show significant signs of improvement. Fury heaved a great, internal sigh of relief. Coulson was a man that he could not afford to lose, especially now. The good news warranted a visit.

Fury waited until he got the head’s up from Hill that Barton was being released from debriefing for the day before he headed down to the parking garage. He dismissed Agent Hayes and was leaning against the door of the black SUV when Barton arrived to catch his ride back to the hospital.

He saw Barton slow at the sight of him, glancing warily over his shoulder as if he expected someone to be closing in on him from behind.

“Sir? What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to go look in on Coulson, and thought I’d kill two birds with one stone and give you a lift.” Fury straightened up, opening the driver’s side door. “Hop in.”

Barton was quiet during the ride, not a single quip or smartass remark. He sat in the passenger seat, as still as if he were in a sniper’s nest. This was the first time Fury had seen him in person since the day of the battle. He’d figured Barton had enough to handle without the Director of SHIELD looming in the background. It seemed that instinct was spot on.

“So. How are you doing?” Fury asked as they stopped at a red light.

Barton smiled wryly. “I’m sure you’re getting daily reports on my debriefing, sir.”

“Yes, I am.” Fury had been paying careful attention to those reports. The word _subdued_ cropped up a lot. It wasn’t an adjective that often got applied to Agent Clint Barton. “That’s not what I asked. I asked how you’re doing.”

The question seemed to require some pondering. Finally, Barton replied. “I’m starting to see things more clearly.”

“Is that your enigmatic sniper way of saying that you’re doing better?”

“Yeah.” Barton’s smile was more genuine this time. “I guess it is.”

“Good,” Fury said as he pulled into the parking deck near the hospital. “Because once I’ve seen Coulson, there’s something I want to talk to you and Song about.”

Fury’s visit with Coulson was very brief, and Fury kept the conversation light. Until his condition had stabilized a little more, the doctors thought it best if certain subjects (like _alien invasion_ ) didn’t come up. Coulson was awake and alert, his voice raspy from the tube that the doctors had recently removed. He clearly still had a ways to go to get his strength back. His eyelids started to droop after less than five minutes.

“Sorry, boss,” Coulson said.

“Just rest and get your ass better, Coulson.”

Fury had big plans in the works and he was going to need Coulson, but that could keep. Barton and Song, on the other hand? It was time to start bringing them up to speed.

When Fury asked if there was someplace they could go to talk, they exchanged a look and led the way up to the roof. The Doctor’s little impromptu campsite outside of the TARDIS had grown by half a dozen chairs, another table, and an open-sided tent. Fury just shook his head and sat. Barton and Song took seats across from him.

“I need to talk to the two of you about the Avengers Initiative,” he said.

“What about them?” Song asked.

“I mean I need to talk to you about your place in it.”

Barton and Song had been the first people on Fury’s list when he’d originally started putting the Initiative on paper. They had no way of knowing that, though, and they seemed stunned (and a little bit resistant) at the idea.

“But we’re not like them. We’re not superheroes,” Song said. “We were just along for the ride. We did our jobs. That’s all.”

“You say that like it somehow makes what you did less heroic,” Fury replied. “A situation like the Chitauri invasion? It’s easy to walk into a mess like that when you have an iron suit or godlike powers. You two walked into it with, granted, a pair of skills sets that are well beyond average, but you’re right, Song. You’re not superheroes. You went out there because keeping people safe is your job. That’s why I want you on this team.”

“So. . .what?” Barton asked. He was sitting back in his chair, arms tightly folded across his chest. “Does this mean we aren’t SHIELD anymore?”

“Not at all,” Fury said. “You’re still SHIELD agents, just attached to a specialized task force. The Avengers Initiative was designed to operate under SHIELD’s purview. Essentially, you’ll represent SHIELD while the others will be considered contractors. Except for Thor. I’m not sure how the hell to classify him yet. Your job descriptions will change a bit, but not your employment.”

“What if we don’t want that?”

Fury sighed internally. Would it kill _one_ person to respond with enthusiasm to an invitation to be a part of the Avengers?

“Strike Team Delta will probably still be called upon to work their own missions for SHIELD,” Fury said. “But we have to face reality, here. You two were seen fighting the Chitauri. Not only that, you were filmed. Now, we’ve been able to kill a lot of that footage and, thus far, we’ve been able to shield your identities, but it would be dangerous for us to assume that you can be completely anonymous and unrecognizable anymore. That’s not as much of a problem for Barton, but for you, Song? I’m afraid your days of long-term undercover assignments are over.”

“Good,” Song replied, as Fury had calculated she would. She looked to Clint for a second. “If we agree to this, I have a condition. Whether we’re working for SHIELD or the Avengers, we don’t get split up again.”

“I’ll take that under consideration.”

“What about Phil?” Barton asked.

“It’s my hope that once he’s recovered, he’ll remain with SHIELD both as your handler and as liaison between the Avengers and SHIELD.”

An agent who had sustained the kind of injury Coulson had would be well within his rights to request reassignment or even early retirement. Fury was banking on Coulson’s devotion to the idea of the Avengers and his attachment to Barton and Song to keep him in the field. It would definitely make life easier. Coulson had been Barton’s handler for thirteen years now, and Song’s for seven. They were as tight as teams got. As for the others? Well, even Tony Stark respected Coulson, and that was an advantage Fury didn’t want to give up.

“The Avengers.” River sounded like she was turning the idea over. “What exactly are you imagining that they—we—will do? An invading alien army isn’t going to come pouring out of the sky every day. I hope.”

“Probably not,” Fury acknowledged. “But according to Thor and the Doctor, Earth is on the intergalactic radar now. We need to assume that we’ll have more contact in the future, hostile or not. Setting that aside, this world itself is getting weirder by the day.” Fury nodded toward the TARDIS. “When it comes to all things alien and paranormal, you two have received some of the best training available. Only don’t tell him I said that.”

“Oh, please,” Barton said. “The Doc’s got external cameras on that thing. He’s probably been eavesdropping since we got up here.”

Fury chuckled, shaking his head. Yeah. That would be like the Doctor, wouldn’t it?

“Look,” Fury said, “this transition, this new team, isn’t going to be an overnight thing. It’s going to take some time and probably some missteps. For now I just want you two to focus on getting back to one hundred percent. Are you planning to come back to base anytime soon?”

“We kind of want to stick around here,” Barton said, “until Phil’s well enough to be moved.”

“In that case, I’ll know where to find you.” Fury stood. “I’ll say good evening, then. And welcome to the Avengers.”


	7. Chapter 7

**D-Day +9**

It was finally time to return to Asgard.

Thor took some small comfort in the fact that he would be bringing Loki home alive. Whether Odin would allow him to go on living remained to be seen, but Thor had his arguments for clemency already planned out. He was certain that he could count on his mother for support, and the Doctor as well. With the Bifrost still under repair (an unfortunate reminder of the _last_ time Loki caused mischief) they would be returning to Asgard the same way Thor had gotten to Earth. By TARDIS.

When Thor reached the door that would lead him to the rooftop of Mount Sinai Hospital, he paused to look back down the staircase at the men following him. He’d sent word of his imminent departure to his human comrades-in-arms. He had been gratified, when Stark and Rogers and even Banner insisted on coming to see him off.

“Should have worn the suit,” Stark said, making a bit of a show at huffing and puffing up the last few steps, as if the elevator hadn’t brought them most of the way.

“You would still have had to wait on those of us who can’t fly,” Banner replied, coming up behind Stark. Rogers, who brought up the rear, just shook his head good-naturedly.

The Doctor, Amy, Rory, Clint, and River were waiting for them on the roof. The SHIELD agents and the Doctor’s companions were not accompanying them to Asgard. Thor and the Doctor had agreed that the fewer complicating factors in Loki’s trial, the better it would be for all concerned. Thor felt a mild twinge of guilt. He knew that they had all been living aboard the TARDIS since the battle and now they were to be deprived of that haven. Fortunately, that situation was well in hand.

“That’s all you guys are bringing?” Stark asked, looking at the backpacks and duffles.

River just arched an eyebrow at him. “We’re staying for a few days, just until Coulson can be moved back to the base. We’re not moving in.”

“Okay.” Stark shrugged. “The apartments are fully stocked. It’s not like you need much.”

“It’s nice of you to do this. Thanks,” Rory said.

“So, I guess we’re all going to be neighbors,” Banner said. “Temporarily, I mean.”

“Tony Stark’s Home for Wayward Hero Types.” Stark grinned. “Cap, you might as well come, too. We’ll make it a full house.”

“I’m good. Thanks,” Rogers replied.

“Pizza night. You can do pizza night.”

“Stark. . .”

Thor leaned over to the Doctor. “They’ll either solidify the bonds of friendship, or Stark’s tower will be swallowed by a cataclysm,” he said quietly.

The Doctor chuckled. “They’ll be fine. The Ponds will keep an eye on things. Amy. Rory. I’ll be back for you in a few days. If for some reason I’m not back in a few days--”

“We have our passports,” Amy said. “Trust me, we learned our lesson after Sydney.”

Thor bid his new allies good-bye and followed the Doctor into the TARDIS. He would return to Midgard again soon enough, he was sure, but for now it was good to be going home.


	8. Chapter 8

**D Day +10**

Eleven days. He had been in the hospital for eleven days.

Coulson had a hard time wrapping his brain around that. Just as he had a hard time, once his doctor explained the extent and nature of his injuries to him, wrapping his brain around the fact that he was still alive. Phil didn’t actually _remember_ getting stabbed through the chest (a result of the trauma, according to Dr. Gregson) and, frankly, he was okay with that. The doctor didn’t sugarcoat how badly off he’d been. She seemed fairly perplexed by his recovery, but not inclined to look the gift horse in the mouth.

As it was, Coulson was informed that he’d need to take it easy for the foreseeable future and he was going to have some impressive scarring, but he should largely recover.

“I think this has put me off sheshkabab for life, though,” Coulson said. 

It was a lame joke, sure, but it at least got a wan smile out of Clint. 

It was almost eight o’clock at night and Clint and River were hanging out, keeping him company. Aunt Alice and Uncle Gary had gone back to their accommodations at Stark Tower. (Everyone was staying at Stark Tower, apparently.) Rory and Amy had been in and out during the day, an hour here and an hour there, giving his aunt and uncle and his agents a break from sitting with him.

Coulson was grateful for the company. The ICU, when you weren’t sleeping all the time, was sort of like a brightly-lit sensory-deprivation experience.

When Clint excused himself and disappeared off to get some coffee, Phil rolled his head on his pillow to look at River.

“How’s he doing? Really?” he asked.

“Honestly? A lot better than he was,” River replied. “His official debriefing has wrapped. That’s helped. Although now he’s starting the mandatory meetings with Psych, and you know Clint and Psych. The fact that you’re getting better has been a huge weight off. So has knowing that Loki is gone.”

Coulson nodded. “What about you, kiddo? How are you doing?”

“You remember the part where I’m thirty years older than you, right?” River said. She smiled slightly. “I have my boys back. I’m good.”

Phil tried, ever so carefully, to shift a bit. Hospital mattresses were not exactly famous for their comfort. Unfortunately, movement of any sort wasn’t really happening. He sighed. “Hell of a week. Two weeks, I guess.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” River said, wryly. She was idly twirling the little mylar balloon-on-a-stick that Amy had brought him as a get-well gift. “So, your aunt and uncle are heading home tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah. There’s not a lot more they can do here, and being away from home this long is kind of hard for them.”

Aunt Alice and Uncle Gary had their own lives, their own kids and grandkids (three of whom they babysat while their parents worked). As much as they had always treated Phil like he was one of their own, and as much as he appreciated the fact that they had dropped everything to come to New York, he wasn’t their responsibility. Aunt Alice had protested when he told her it was okay for them to go home, but not much. 

Coulson contemplated the ceiling tiles over his head. There was something that had been niggling at the edge of his brain all day, and now that they were starting to wean him off some of the drugs it suddenly clicked into place. He looked over at River again.

“How did my aunt and uncle even know to come up here?”

River looked genuinely surprised. “I called them. Fury gave me your list.”

His list. _To Be Notified,_ in case of. You didn't have to say in case of _what;_ it was just understood. It had, in point of fact, never occurred to Phil that his list might be called while he was still breathing.

Oh, fuck.

"You called the whole list?" he asked River.

“Of course. That’s the protocol.”

Oh. _Fuck._

“Phil?” River was looking at him oddly. “Did I do something wrong?”

"No. No, I just . . .” _God clearly wanted me to live so he could punish me for stupidity._ “I probably owe someone a phone call."

"Valerie Custis?"

"Yeah," Phil said. "What did you tell her?"

River shrugged a little and laid the balloon back on the rolling tray. 

"I told her same thing I told your aunt and your cousin. That you were injured, that it was critical, that you were in the hospital and receiving care, and that you had left instructions that she be notified in the event of something like that happening. She thanked me for letting her know, and that was it."

"And you didn't call her back at any point with an update?"

"No. I gave her my number and told her to call me any time, but . . . honestly, Phil, she was kind of cool about the whole thing."

Phil could hear the judgment in River’s voice. He knew what Valerie's tone must have been in that conversation, too: careful, composed, controlled. He'd heard it any number of times, listening to her side of a difficult conversation. He'd heard it when he'd told her he was seeing Gail.

"Valerie can be pretty reserved," Phil explained. "Especially with people she doesn't know. It's just who she is."

And then there was the part where she hadn't heard a word from him in four months and thought he was seeing someone else. Fifteen years of Phil trying to keep her well away from anything to do with his life at SHIELD probably came into play, too.

"Valerie needs to know I'm not . . . "

"Do you want me to call her?" River asked.

He did. Phil really wanted to take River up on that offer. But given that he had only recently faced down a demi-god with nothing but an untested weapon, being afraid to call Valerie himself seemed extraordinarily cowardly. 

Then again, look at where that last bout of bravery had landed him.

"No," Phil said. "Thanks, but I'll do it. Can I use your phone?"

The look on River’s face said that she didn’t quite approve, but she handed over her phone. “I’ll wait outside.”

It took him a few minutes to actually work up the nerve to dial Valerie’s number. Then it rang to the point that he was ready to go to her voice mail. That might actually have been preferable to having to speak to her, though he wasn't sure what the hell kind of message to leave. While he was still working that out – 

"Hello?" Valerie sounded slightly breathless, like she'd run for the phone. 

God, he'd missed her.

"Hey, Val."

There was a beat of silence. _“Phil?_ Oh, thank God. Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Phil said. Well, I’m better than I was.”

"Well, considering the last I heard you were a critical case and now you're making phone calls, that much I had worked out."

"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone had called you,” Phil said. “There’s a list that agents have of people to be called in case anything happens and you’re on mine. I hadn’t taken you off it after. . .actually, it never even occurred to me to take you off of it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to worry.”

Phil knew he was babbling. He figured he could blame it on a potent combination of nerves and heavy-duty painkillers. 

“It’s okay,” Valerie said. “It’s okay, Phil. I’m glad I’m on your list.”

“Right.” Phil glanced toward the door, making sure the coast was still clear. “How are you?”

“Honestly? It’s been a tough eleven days.” Phil could hear the slight scrape and shuffling on the other end of the line that accompanied Valerie taking a seat at the breakfast bar in her kitchen. How many conversations had they had this way? “It’s really good to hear your voice.”

“It’s good to hear yours, too. I’ve missed you, Val.”

"I've missed you, too."

There was a pause, awkward and expectant and at least five seconds too long.

Finally, Phil cleared his throat and, before he could think twice about what he was about to suggest, said, “Look, um, I don’t have any right to ask you this, but would you come? Here?”

There was another long stretch of silence before Valerie replied.

“Would that make things awkward? With the cellist?”

Her tone was very carefully diplomatic. Phil still cringed. Really, what the hell had he been thinking?

“She’s. . .that’s over. It has been for a while.”

Now was not the time to try to explain that he’d only dated Gail as an excuse to stop seeing Valerie, to free her from a dead-end relationship with a guy who was married to SHIELD. The fact that Valerie was currently speaking to him meant that that conversation was probably coming, but it wasn’t one to have over the phone.

Valerie must have agreed with his inner musings, because she just said, “All right. Yes, I’d like to come see you. Will I be able to get into New York?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Phil asked. 

“Because of the martial law,” Valerie replied. “The last report I saw said that they were still requiring special approval for non-essential persons to enter the city.”

“Martial law? What the hell are you talking about? Why is New York under martial law?”

“Because of the battle.” Now Valerie was the one who sounded confused.

“What battle?”

“Phil, _aliens_ attacked the city. It’s been all over the news. All over everything, for that matter. They were pouring out of the sky right over Stark Tower. They were flying around on these weird skeleton whales, blowing up everything in sight. Manhattan is a mess right now.”

Phil tried to formulate a reply and failed utterly. His mind was racing. Granted, he had obviously missed some stuff once Loki had taken him out of the game, but he’d at least thought he’d had a clear understanding of the progression of events: River had somehow broken Loki’s control of Clint, and then SHIELD and the Avengers had thwarted Loki’s plan and taken him into custody.

Though, now that he thought about it, River had been pretty vague when Phil had asked her what had happened with Loki. It also explained a few abortive comments and quick changes of subject on the part of his aunt and uncle. One thing was for sure: No one had said anything about an invasion or a fucking _battle._

“What happened?” Phil asked.

“The Avengers stopped them,” Valerie replied. “I swear, I never thought I’d see your kids on TV with Captain America.” 

At that, Phil inadvertently tried to sit up, gritting his teeth when a dull stab of pain cut through the drugs.

“My kids. . .Clint and River? They were there?”

“Yeah. I saw them during the live coverage. At least, I’m assuming it was them. There was a woman and a man with a bow. No one seems to know exactly who they are, but I don’t imagine there are that many men out there who fight with a bow. How do you not know about this?”

_Because “my kids” have been holding out on me, that’s how._

“I’ve been asleep,” he said lamely.

“Fair enough.” Now Valerie just sounded slightly amused. “At any rate, I’m probably going to need some sort of clearance if I’m going to come up there.”

“I’ll set it up,” Phil said. “Let me talk to my boss. His office can make the arrangements.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you soon, then.”

“See you soon.”

Phil ended the call and let his head drop back against his pillow. An invasion. He had slept through an alien invasion and no one had bothered to tell him.

_“RIVER!”_

*****

“Because we thought it would be better to wait until you were out of intensive care, _that’s_ why we hadn’t told you yet,” River said in exasperation. “And your doctors agreed. In fact, they encouraged it.”

River had nearly jumped out of her skin when she’d heard Coulson bellow. She had rushed back into his room to find him, as that quaint country expression went, fit to be tied.

“Seriously, Phil,” she added, “calm down before they come in here and sedate you.”

She thought they might already be too late on that front. She could hear footsteps approaching, but it was just Clint, carrying two paper cups of coffee.

“Man, you wouldn’t believe the line in the--” Clint broke off as he looked over the scene. “I missed something, didn’t I?”

“Apparently, _I’m_ the one who missed something,” Coulson said. “Like the fact that the two of you fought back an alien invasion six blocks from here.”

River rubbed her hands over her face. She did not have the fortitude to deal with this tonight.

“I thought we were going to wait to tell him,” Clint said mildly, handing one of the cups of coffee to River and rubbing the back of her neck.

"I _didn’t_ tell him.” River didn’t even attempt to curb her tone into something that wasn’t complete annoyance. “I let him call Ms. Custis and _she_ told him.”

Which in retrospect, River acknowledged, she maybe should have seen coming.

“You _let_ me?” Coulson bristled.

“I gave you my phone. So, yes, I _let_ you.”

“Ms. Custis, huh?” Clint said.

“Apparently she’s going to be coming for a visit,” River replied.

“Could we get back on track, please?” Coulson said. The fact that he looked genuinely worried eased River’s annoyance slightly. “A battle? Are the two of you all right?”

“We’re okay, Phil,” Clint replied. “Yeah, we got a little banged up, but we’re fine.”

River glanced sideways at Clint. He actually sounded. . .okay. More okay than he’d sounded since she got him back. Coulson seemed to pick up on it too. He visibly relaxed.

“Just tell me, is there anything else I ought to know about?” he asked.

“Rory and I snuck in here three nights ago and shot you full of alien medication. That’s why your condition turned around so fast,” River said. Both Coulson and Clint stared at her. River just shrugged. “I’m very tired, and I’d rather not have a fight about it later. Now you know.”

“Oh, and Fury wants us all to be Avengers,” Clint added. “Just FYI.”

Someone lightly knocked on the doorframe, and one of the night nurses, Bonnie, stuck her head inside. She was smiling apologetically. “Guys, it’s getting late. Agent Coulson needs to rest.”

Which River knew was night-nurse nice-speak for _Time to get out now._

“Okay, you heard the lady.” Clint took River’s arm and tugged her toward the door. “Come on, before Amy and Rory send out a search party. Phil, sleep. We’ll see you in the morning.”


	9. Chapter 9

**D Day + 11**

Fury not only cleared Valerie Custis to come to New York, he elected to go down to Arlington and pick her up personally. Clint got that straight from Nadine Washington.

“He’s going to take a chopper down to get her,” Nadine said. “They should get to the hospital sometime after lunch. Consider yourself alerted.”

“Fury has time to go play taxi service?” Clint asked.

He heard Nadine make an amused sound on the other end of the call. “This is the woman that Agent Coulson has been dating for a decade and a half. Are you telling me that _you_ aren’t curious to meet her?”

 _Curious_ wasn’t quite the right word to describe what Clint felt about the mysterious Valerie Custis. _Confused_ was closer to the mark. Yeah, he’d known about Valerie for years, at least in a vague sense. She was Phil’s old college girlfriend. A friend with benefits. The DC layover. Phil had never really said anything to Clint to indicate that she meant more to him than that. And wouldn’t he have? They were friends. Hell, Phil probably knew way more than he _wanted_ to know about Clint’s relationship with River.

But Valerie Custis was on Phil’s list. You didn’t put a simple friend with benefits on your list. And he’d asked her to come up here to see him.

So, yeah, Clint was confused. He was also a little resentful. After all, this was the same woman who had dumped Phil and broken his heart a few months ago. That was what River extrapolated had happened, and River’s extrapolations were usually right on the money. Phil had come back from spending New Year’s Eve with Valerie acting depressed and then started dating a cellist half his age. Clint hadn’t been around for most of that. He’d been heading up security at the Tesseract facility in New Mexico, but he’d gotten increasingly incredulous phone calls from River, describing Phil’s weird behavior. 

“So, what the hell gives her the right to just drop back into his life now?” Clint asked. “I mean, she dumped him, hurt him, and now she thinks she can just show back up?”

Dr. Gordon, from SHIELD Psych, regarded Clint with two raised eyebrows and a slightly bewildered expression. This was clearly not how he was expecting their session to go.

“Agent Barton, we really should get back on track. Now, let’s talk about--” 

“It’s not just me, right? That’s fucked up?” Clint asked.

Yeah, he knew that Gordon wanted to talk about the shit with Loki and the Helicarrier attack and how Clint had tried to kill River. Clint emphatically did _not_ want to talk about any of that. Besides, his history as a pain-in-the-ass psych patient was well documented. It would probably send up red flags if he was too cooperative.

Dr. Gordon sighed, clicking his pen a few times. “You say that Agent Coulson invited this woman to come and visit him?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, _that’s_ what gives her the right to come here,” Dr. Gordon said. “Agent Barton, may I make an observation?”

“Is there any conceivable way I could stop you?”

“No.” Dr. Gordon folded his hands on his notepad. “Given everything you’ve been through, the loss of autonomy, your friends being in danger, Agent Coulson’s close brush with death--”

“All of which is fine now.”

“Given all of that,” Dr. Gordon went on determinedly, ignoring the interruption, “it’s perfectly understandable that your instinct now is to protect the people closest to you. It’s even understandable that you’re experiencing that feeling to a hyper degree, for example, wanting to protect Agent Coulson from someone that you fear might hurt him emotionally. That’s a normal reaction, but let me caution you to keep perceived threats in perspective.”

Clint just snorted. He might not have an advanced degree, but he knew more about sizing up threats than any SHIELD shrink ever would.

When Fury escorted Valerie Custis into the ICU waiting room, Clint was already firmly in assessment mode.

He’d always pictured Valerie as a blonde. Not for any real reason except that this was the woman who Clint had mentally tagged as “the DC layover” for years now. That label belonged to a woman who was busty, blonde, and trying to look twenty years younger than she was. Which, Clint acknowledged, was stupid because that was not Phil’s type at all.

Now, the real Valerie Custis? She was _exactly_ Phil’s type.

She most definitely wasn’t blonde. Valerie Custis had dark brown hair and equally dark brown eyes. She was on the tall side with a trim figure. She had a wide mouth and high cheekbones, and Clint could see some faint laugh-lines around her eyes and mouth. She wore a lavender blouse, khakis, and sensible walking shoes, and she was carrying a sweater.

Frankly, she looked like a soccer mom. A very attractive and classy soccer mom. She looked like someone’s wife, not someone’s out-of-town fling. Somehow, that just annoyed Clint all the more.

She wasn’t quite what River had been expecting, either. Clint could tell that just by exchanging a glance with her. Fury seemed to approve of Ms. Custis, though. The Director wore an easy smile and was gallantly carrying a large Smithsonian tote bag that Clint was damn sure didn’t belong to him.

Fury made the introductions and kept them brief. Valerie Custis was smiling and gracious, but it was pretty clear that she was anxious to get back to see Phil. When Fury had escorted her back into the ICU, Clint looked at River.

“So?” he asked. “What do you think?”

River tilted her head, thoughtfully. “I think Phil’s better at playing his cards close to the vest than we ever knew.”

“Yeah.”

That was what worried him.

*****

“Well,” Valerie said, standing in the doorway of his room, “this is the most pathetic I’ve seen you since the Poison Ivy Incident of 1987.”

Phil grinned at Valerie. He was glad he’d been able to negotiate with the nurses for custody of his bed control. Being propped up made him feel slightly less useless, plus the view was better.

"This itches less," Phil said.

"You look less scaly, too."

"You look good," he told her, and it was true, though as she leaned down to kiss his cheek, he could see the effort she'd put into it. Her makeup was applied with the usual care and skill, but up close, it couldn't quite hide the dark circles under her eyes.

"So how are you feeling?" she asked, sitting down in the chair next to the bed.

Phil considered the question for a moment. Since he'd last seen her, he'd broken both their hearts a little, fought an alien god, been stabbed through the chest, and nearly died. He was probably supposed to have a pretty profound answer to give her. Or if not profound, than reassuring.

But it was Valerie, so he said, "Bored."

"Bored?" she repeated, with just enough inflection to make it a question and not enough to convey the tiniest bit of surprise.

The girl always had known him.

“No one will tell me much about what’s going on. Outside of here, I mean. Nothing about the attack or the fallout. They won’t let me read any of the news, and I’m pretty sure they have half the channels on the TV blocked because all I can get is Nickelodeon and Lifetime and the Food Network."

Hell, he hadn’t even _known_ about the attack twenty-four hours ago.

"Why?” Valerie asked.

"Doctors’ orders. They think it will upset me, apparently."

"Well, that's stupid. You're always more upset with questions than you are with answers. You get cranky when you don't have answers."

"I wouldn't say 'cranky,'" Phil said.

“I would.” Valerie reached down for the Smithsonian tote bag she’d carried in. “Fortunately for you, I came prepared.”

She fished out a thick stack of newspapers and magazines. From what Phil could see, they all had headlines and covers featuring phrases like, _Extraterrestrial Attack_ and _End of the World as We Knew It_ and _Who Are the Avengers?_ Valerie dropped the stack on the side of the bed, then pulled out and started fiddling with her iPad.

“I bookmarked the best sites I could find,” she said. “Enough lying around, Coulson. Start reading up.”

*****

It had been a strange day so far for Valerie Custis. She felt a little as if she’d stepped into another world. SHIELD and spies and aliens and agents—this was Phil’s world. Valerie had never, in the last fifteen years, been invited to venture so far into it before. The ground was pretty uneven, but she was beginning to feel like she was finding her footing.

The fact that Phil’s boss had personally come down to Arlington to pick her up had been a bit of a surprise. Director Fury was, by far, the most intimidating-looking government employee she’d ever met, but there was clearly a gentleman under that black coat and eyepatch. They’d had a nice chat on the flight up, even though Valerie had been dating a spy long enough to know that Fury was trying to get all the information he could out of her between Arlington and New York.

Fury seemed to like her. Phil was _incredibly_ glad to see her, which was the most important thing, and given the last few months made Valerie cautiously happy.

But Valerie got the impression that Clint and River, Phil’s “kids,” didn’t care for her one bit.

She sat with Phil for almost an hour before he crashed, literally falling asleep mid-sentence. Valerie had been warned that that might happen. Phil was doing better than he had any right to be. (It took a lot of wherewithal not to wince at the sight of the bandages around his chest, especially since Fury had told her what lay underneath). But he was still on some heavy drugs, and heaven knew he needed rest.

Valerie decided to stretch her legs a bit. She hadn’t taken the time to do much more than say a quick hello to Clint and River. She thought she probably ought to remedy that.

She found them on a sofa out on the mezzanine. River was curled up against Clint’s side. He had his arm around her and they were talking quietly. They looked very sweet together, Valerie thought. Maybe that wasn’t the best word to use for them. She _was_ aware of what they did for a living, but whenever Phil talked about Clint and River (and he talked about them a lot) it usually wasn’t about killing and espionage. It was about Clint’s latest on-base prank or his penchant for rescuing stray animals. It was about River teaching new trainee agents to dance the foxtrot or the time she won a sizable bet by reciting all of the dialogue of the movie _Clue_ from memory. 

Those were the people Valerie had been expecting to meet. Those were the people they looked like, curled up together on the sofa.

Then they spotted Valerie, and those two people promptly disappeared.

“Oh, please, don’t get up,” Valerie said, but they were already on their feet, and it felt like the temperature dropped a good ten degrees.

“Is there something we can do for you, Ms. Custis?” River asked. 

River was cool. Chilly, even. Clint? He was actually glaring.

 _They’ve had a very rough time of it._ Valerie was, if nothing else, a well-brought-up Southern girl. And she worked in Washington. Courtesy and diplomacy were as second-nature to her as checking for clear exits was to Phil. So, Valerie met this (completely baffling) reception with a smile.

“Phil’s asleep, and we didn’t really get a chance to say hello earlier,” she said. “It’s good to finally meet you both. Phil’s told me so much about you, I feel like I already know you.”

“Yeah? Afraid we can’t say the same thing about you,” Clint replied. 

If he’d been one of her teenage nephews, Valerie would have pinched him by the ear and told him to mind his manners. River seemed to be better at toeing the line of civility, but the line was clearly there.

No, Clint and River didn’t like her at all and Valerie, for the life of her, couldn’t think why.

*****

River was really getting sick of Mount Sinai’s ICU waiting room. If she never saw soothing pink wallpaper and hunter-green sofas again, it would be far, far too soon. The thought made her feel fairly disloyal. They were here for Phil, after all. River had certainly spent longer stretches of time stuck in far less pleasant environments for less important reasons.

Still, the day dragged. After her initial attempt to make nice with Clint and River, Valerie stayed back in the ICU with Coulson. Amy and Rory turned up in the early afternoon and dragged Clint and River out to a nearby diner for a late lunch. Clint and River did, however, turn down the invitation to go for a walk around Midtown and take a look at the progress the repair and clean-up crews were making.

“What time do you think you’ll come back to the Tower tonight?” Amy asked River.

“I’m not sure,” River replied. “It might be late.”

Amy raised an eyebrow at her. “You know, Phil’s going to be okay, and he’s not alone. I know you don’t like this Valerie person, but she’s here. Come back early tonight. Tony’s talking about dragging everyone up to the penthouse and ordering a bunch of pizzas. I think he even has Steve talked into coming.”

“It’s _Tony_ now, huh?”

“Yeah.” Amy shrugged. “You know, for a billionaire he’s actually a pretty nice guy.”

River and Clint took up their post in the waiting room again. Clint eventually fell asleep, arms crossed over his stomach, feet propped up on the coffee table. River skimmed a magazine while keeping one eye on the ICU entrance. Ms. Custis had to go to dinner eventually.

At precisely 1832 hours, River’s patience paid off. She saw Ms. Custis leave the ICU and head toward the elevators. River counted out two minutes and then slipped back to Phil’s room. Just to check on things.

At her arrival Phil glanced up from the issue of TIME magazine he was reading (the one with SHIELD’s emblem splashed right on the cover). The rest of his bed was covered with magazines and newspapers. It looked like he was systematically working his way through them.

“You look like a pile of recycling,” River said.

“Valerie brought them,” Phil said. “You just missed her. She went down to the cafeteria.”

River nodded neutrally. 

“River?” River looked back to Coulson. He had laid his magazine aside and was looking at her with mild reproof. “Be nice to Valerie, okay?”

River straightened up a bit from the doorframe. “Did she say I wasn’t being nice?”

“No. But I’ve known her for a very long time, so I know when something’s up,” Coulson replied. “And I know you. I know that look on your face.” He frowned. “I don’t get it, River. What do you have against a woman you just met?”

“What do I have--?” Really? Was Phil _that_ dense? “She dumped you. That’s what I have against her.”

“What? Why the hell would you think that?”

“Come on, Phil. I’m not stupid. You came home from that New Year’s party acting like suicide on a stick. You weren’t yourself, and then you started dating that cellist, which just seemed to make you _more_ unhappy.”

“River.” Coulson looked oddly pained. “Valerie didn’t dump me. _I_ dumped _her.”_

“But. . .” After everything that had happened this past week, River was starting to think that her brain needed a tune up. “What?”

“I dumped her,” Phil repeated, “because. . .it’s complicated. I thought she deserved better than me, so I let her go. And I started dating Gail so that I couldn’t cave and ask her to take me back. Even when Gail didn’t pan out, the break had still been made. But then I got hurt and wound up in the hospital and--”

“And I called your list and Valerie was on it.” River sank down in the chair. “You broke up with her. For her own good.”

“Yeah.”

“So,” River raised an eyebrow at Coulson, “you’re an idiot.”

Coulson let his head fall back against his pillow. “Yeah. That’s probably the nice way of putting it.”

River turned over this new intel for a few seconds before she asked, “Does this mean the two of you are back together, then?”

“I think it’s too early to say,” Coulson replied.

“But she came up here to see you,” River pointed out. 

“Yes, she did,” Coulson said, “and I’m hoping that means I’ll be able to fix the mess I’ve made. But Valerie is way too classy a woman to have the _let’s talk about where our relationship is going_ conversation with a man with a catheter.” Coulson smiled wryly. “At least it gives me time to figure out what the hell I’m going to say.”

“If your primary objective is to get her to take you back, I’d lead off with _I’m sorry.”_

“Already got that part covered,” Coulson said. “In the meantime, be nice to her, okay? She’s not the enemy.”

River just nodded. She hadn’t felt this much like a chastised teenager in a very long time.

“And I want you to do one more thing for me,” Coulson said. “Take Clint and go home.”

“Phil?”

“You two have practically been living at this hospital for almost two weeks,” Coulson said. “I appreciate you being here. You don’t know how much. But I can tell that you’re both worn out. I want you to get out of here for a while.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m surrounded by doctors, and Valerie’s here,” Coulson said. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me if you and Clint aren’t here. I don’t want to see either one of you for three days. You can each call me once a day to check on me. All right?”

River thought she ought to put up more of a fight, but Phil was right. She was tired, and while Clint was improving, he had a lot of bouncing back still do to. 

He was still sleeping sitting up on that god-awful waiting room sofa when River came back. River looked fondly down at him for a moment before leaning down and kissing him. It woke him up and he blinked up at her with bleary eyes and a smile before reality seemed to catch up with him. He frowned, sitting upright.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” River said. “Come on. Get up.”

“Are we going somewhere?”

“Home.”

“Home?” Clint stood up, stretching his arms. “Where’s that?”

River smiled a bit. That was the question now, wasn’t it?

“It’s wherever we decide it is.”

At least for now, “going home” meant walking back to Stark Tower. Stark had told them to feel free to call for a car, but Clint and River weren’t accustomed to long periods of inactivity. The spring evening was pleasant and the distance wasn’t that great. It was also better for talking than riding in the back of a car was.

“So, Phil broke things off with Valerie, not the other way around?” Clint said.

“That’s what he says,” River replied. “He was trying to do the noble thing, apparently. And I think he kind of buggered it.”

“Does this mean she’s going to be a thing now?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think _they_ know,” River said. “I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Clint made a noise that was half-hum, half-grumble. He was quiet for half a block before he replied. “Well, I’m not calling her _Mom.”_

River laughed and threaded her arm through Clint’s.

Walking down into Midtown made for a meandering sort of trip. Their path skirted around piles of rubble and orange netting and traffic cones. Repair crews down here at the epicenter of the destruction were still working around the clock. But progress had clearly been made, and more of the buildings were lit up now. Stark Tower was still the brightest beacon in the neighborhood, the single _A_ on the top deck visible for over a mile.

“Did you hear what Stark said about that?” River said, nodding toward the tower in the distance. 

“What about it?” Clint asked.

“He’s planning to leave it as it is. _A_ for _Avengers.”_

“I can’t wait to hear what Fury thinks of that.” Clint frowned up at the tower. “Everything’s changing.”

“It’s a new world,” River agreed. She squeezed Clint’s arm a little tighter. “But we’ve seen a fair few of those. We’ll figure this one out.” 

_End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we are officially in Phase 3! Stay tuned for _The Girl Who Waited_ , written by my awesome beta, **like-a-raven**.


End file.
